Holidays
by MelissaVampGrrl
Summary: How Katniss and Peeta grew back together during the holidays following their return to Disctrict 12.
1. Chapter 1  Halloween

Halloween

I haven't spoken to Peeta since that afternoon with the primrose. I will admit I am too embarrassed to confront him after my breakdown, and Peeta, always being the gentleman, is giving me space to deal with my demons.

Despite my social inadequacies, he still comes every day to tend to those bushes. I think he sees me in the window, watching him with tears in my eyes for my lost sister, but he never acknowledges me.

Even if we don't speak, his presence is a comfort. It reminds me that I'm not as alone as I sometimes believe. Peeta is still here. Haymitch is only a short distance away. There is still life in District 12 even if I myself feel like an empty shell.

This morning, I awoke from a particularly horrifying nightmare. It involved Finnick, though many of them do. No matter how hard I try, I can't keep myself from reliving his death in my dreams at least once a week. Each time it feels worse than the last: bloodier, more violent. This morning, the mutts hadn't just killed Finnick. They'd killed his unborn child as well.

It was a lingering vision that made me wish Annie hadn't called earlier this week to share her happy news. It might be a blessing to her, but for me it was just one more thing to bring into my personal hell.

Wanting to force this horrible memory from my mind, I pull on my boots and stomp out the front door. I don't really have any place in mind to go. I just need to get out of my house. It only makes me think of Prim. It won't help lessen the pain of my dream to replace it with thoughts of my dead sister. That would only double my misery.

The first time he calls my name, I ignore it, thinking it to be only another memory, another thing I've lost along the way. Then he says it again, clear and with purpose. Trying to keep the surprise from showing, I turn to face him. My eyebrows arch with my silent query. After all this time in silence, what could he possibly want?

Peeta makes his way toward me from his front yard as quickly as his metal leg will allow. Watching him struggle makes me feel guilty. Despite his best efforts to assure me that I saved his life in our first games, I still feel as if losing his leg was my fault. If I'd been better, maybe he wouldn't have lost it.

I also feel guilty because he is rushing. It's as if he's afraid I might bolt if given the chance. I can't really blame him for thinking as much. Last time we spoke, I ran into my house and slammed the door.

"Katniss," he says a little breathlessly as he reaches my side.

"Peeta," I return. My voice sounds hoarse from lack of use. The only company I have nowadays is Greasy Sae, and she respects my wish for silence.

Peeta's face breaks into a giant smile at my greeting, as if I've done something more than simply say his name. He doesn't wait to start up our conversation, because he knows I won't be the one to do it. "I was just wondering what your plans were for Halloween," he inquires with an eager expression.

"Halloween?" I ask in confusion.

"You didn't hear about Halloween." He frowns and his lips purse thoughtfully. "I assumed…" He shakes his head before he offers me an encouraging smile. "The kids found an old magazine in District 13 about Halloween. It's a holiday they used to have before…" He waves a hand vaguely in the air. "Children used to dress up in crazy costumes and go door to door collecting treats from their neighbors."

My vision of children in costume consists of them looking like grotesque version of the citizens of the Capitol. I shiver in horror at the idea and automatically turn my body to walk away. "I don't think I'll be participating," I inform him stiffly.

To my surprise, Peeta reaches out and grabs my shoulders to keep me from leaving. "It's just meant to be for fun, Katniss. It was their idea," he says of the meager number of children in District 12. "They don't have much to get excited about, so this is important."

He pauses and drops his hands away from my shoulders. "There aren't many people in 12 who have the ability to give anything to them. Many people still don't have their own homes yet, let alone enough resources to give something away."

I feel guilt overwhelm me once again. I am better off than most people in District 12, but there is still one problem with Peeta's idea. "I don't have anything to give them," I point out.

This only causes his grin to widen. "I know the perfect thing for you to give. If you go out into the woods today, you could pick a basket full of berries. I have little mesh bags left over from the bakery we can wrap them in and ribbon to tie off the bags." He continues on without even waiting for me to object. "I can bake a couple dozen cookies for me to hand out while you do that. It'll be fun."

My eyebrows arch at this. Fun? I don't remember what fun is. I usually settle for not miserable, and sometimes even that is hard to obtain. I go to argue, to find some excuse, but Peeta cuts me off.

"Please?" he wheedles, his expression nearly pleading.

I can't say no. After every horror that Peeta has endured because of me, I owe him. That is how my afternoon came to consist of me picking more berries than I could ever eat myself.

X X X

Sitting at Peeta's kitchen table is an odd experience. His house looks much like mine on the outside, but the comparisons end there. The basic frame and structure is the same, but where mine is the place I merely exist, Peeta's is a home.

My walls are barren. I have no decorations, no photos, nothing of sentimental value. Just stepping into Peeta's front hall lets you know that he has memories he doesn't wish to forget. A large oil painting of his family when you first walk in the door is impossible to miss. It's as if he wants to force visitors to remember who he lost in the war.

My kitchen is nearly uninhabited. I don't cook. I don't bake. I have no real need for it. Even without him in it, Peeta's kitchen is a testament that someone lives here. His large oven is on and full of cookies. Flour smatters the counter. Stray baking ingredients litter the marble surface. The place just feels like Peeta, warm and comforting.

I look up from the ribbon I am wrapping around one of the mesh bags and study Peeta as he enters the room with a little container of cinnamon in his hand. He looks confident and sure of himself here in his kitchen. I am almost jealous that Peeta has found his niche back in 12. I even heard rumor that they are rebuilding the bakery for him. When he bakes, he looks…happy. I don't even remember what that's like.

Peeta grabs a cookie from a plate where he has at least two dozen cooling already. Turning to face me, he holds out the cookie with a hopeful expression. "Would you like to be my taste tester?"

Things had been quiet and comfortable before this moment. Upon my arrival, we'd greeted each other softly then set to work. This is his first attempt to socialize with me.

Trying not to ruin his effort, I reach out and take the cookie from him. "You know they're good," I assure him, though I break off a tiny piece and pop it into my mouth. I moan at the taste of chocolate chips melting on my tongue. In the Capitol, I'd had many different foods. Nothing compared to this. I'd never had anything right out of the oven, still gooey and hot. "Peeta," I mumble around the next bite of cookie I shove into my mouth. "These are amazing."

The smile that lights up his face at my compliment makes my heart constrict with a sensation close to pain. It is so easy for me to please him, my boy with the bread. A random compliment is all it takes to make Peeta smile. How easy it is, yet the majority of what I've brought him is pain.

Unaware of my internal struggle, Peeta slides into the seat next to mine and gently takes the mesh bag of berries from my hands. "These turned out really nice," he compliments earnestly.

I shrug, unable to accept his compliment. I don't deserve it after everything I've done to him, and the idea was his anyway.

He glances at the clock above his stove, and I can see the eagerness plainly on his face. "Halloween officially starts in a few minutes. Are you going home to hand out your berries?" He turns his attention to me and runs a hand nervously through his blond hair before continuing, "You could always stay here if you want. We could do it together."

Before I can even answer, there is a knock at his door. "Looks like I don't have a choice," I inform him. "Someone's early." I'm glad for the opportunity to stay. These last few hours have been the most peaceful ones I've had since returning home. We don't have to say much to each other. Peeta's presence alone is enough to satisfy my need for company. I find myself surprised to admit that I've missed him.

The companionable afternoon we just spent together is the first time I feel like I've really been with him since before the Quarter Quell. In District 13, things were too complicated. He'd never been the same after the Capitol got ahold of him…until now.

I smile at that thought, possibly the first genuine one I've had since Prim's death. Climbing to my feet, I grab a handful of my berry pouches and follow Peeta to the front door.

The children on his front step look so excited, it's almost comical. Their costumes aren't what I envisioned at all. One boy is a ghost. He wears an old, ratty sheet with eye holes cut into it. Another little boy laughs in embarrassment as his friends hassle him for donning his sister's dress and going as a girl.

There isn't anything Capitol about these costumes. They are costumes done by those who are used to going without. A sheet, an old dress, a scarecrow made from spare straw and a flannel t-shirt.

I watch Peeta as he reaches out to the little girl dressed as a scarecrow and hands her a cookie. His expression is so open, so caring as he talks to her. Something about this scene is so touching, it brings tears to my eyes. My throat feels thick, and I have to bite my lip to keep my emotions under control. These are Seam children, children who have lost loved ones just like we have.

Peeta turns to give me room to pass out my berries when he catches the expression on my face. Understanding fills his eyes, and he offers his hand out to me.

I take it and let him pull me forward toward the little kids. The fact that I don't need to voice what I'm feeling aloud is one of the best things about Peeta. He just knows. He's gone through the same terrors I have, so at times it feels as if he can read my mind.

When I'm even with the children, his hand goes to my back in a show of silent support.

I need it too, because when I hand the scarecrow her little bag of berries, her eyes light up in sheer delight. I want to cry over the sad fact that a handful of berries are so special to these children. They've starved while those in the Capitol gorged themselves until they vomited. This girl is a reminder of why I fought, why I became the Mockingjay. She is a symbol of the good we've done for our District. Without having to ask, I know that Peeta's thoughts mirror my own.

X X X

In my nightmare, Prim is screaming for me. She yells my name over and over while flames consume her body. Despite my own burning agony, I concentrate on Prim. I watch the skin melt from her face, watch as fire consumes my little sister.

I bolt upright from my dream with a scream. I am shaking so uncontrollably that I don't think I'll ever stop. My eyes scan the unfamiliar surroundings of the room with terror, and I swing an arm out in a desperate attempt to throw off the blanket someone's tucked over my shoulder. Not knowing where I am makes me panic. It isn't until arms wrap around me and force me to stop trashing that I remember I'm at Peeta's house. I'd fallen asleep on his couch while he cleaned up the last of our Halloween treats.

It wasn't Prim repeating my name over and over again but him. He holds me tightly, my back pressed against his chest. His hands are on my wrists to keep me from striking out, but I'm done now. The dream is fading to leave me a trembling mess, a shell of the girl I'd been before the war.

I hate showing emotion in front of others, but I can't stop the sob that forces its way from my throat as the dream continues to fade, taking with it the last image of Prim I will ever have. Another follows, and soon I'm weeping uncontrollably.

Peeta doesn't ask any questions. Once again, he doesn't need to. He just tightens his arms around me and whispers softly in my ear. His words aren't anything specific, just general expressions of comfort.

Despite their lack of substance, Peeta's words are exactly what I need. His arms are what I need. I recall those nights on the train before the Quarter Quell when Peeta would keep my nightmares at bay. I need that now more than I've ever needed anything in my life. Back then, the nightmares hadn't involved Prim or Finnick. They hadn't been nearly as bad as the ones that have been plaguing me over the past few weeks. "Don't leave me," I beg him, my left hand coming up to cling to the arm he has stretched across my chest, so that his palm cups my shoulder.

I know my request is unfair. After everything I've done to this boy, how can I beg him to stay with me? After all the pain I've caused, how can he still want to?

Somehow, he does still want my friendship. Inexplicably, Peeta still has it in his heart to care for me. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispers in reassurance. Shifting on the small couch, he manages to wedge himself behind me. His arms leave me for only the moment it takes to situate himself. Then he's holding me once again. His left arm keeps me securely tucked back against his chest while his right hand slides soothingly through my hair.

While he holds me, I cry myself to sleep, my tears dripping down to the cushions of his couch. My heart is full of suffering and I am far from being a functioning citizen of District 12, but that night, for the first time in weeks, I don't have any more nightmares.


	2. Chapter 2 Thanksgiving

I would like to thank everyone who gave me feedback. I appreciate it! It keeps me writing. More please. Haha.

Here is the second part to this story: Thanksgiving. Enjoy! And no worries, things will heat up a bit more down the road. Give Peeta some time to truly win her over.

Thanksgiving

It's been nearly a month since that evening on Peeta's couch. I still have a hard time believing I let myself lose control like that. Even more surprising is that I let him in. I am a private person. My demons are my own. Prim's death belongs to no one but me. I was there. I witnessed it, and I miss her more than anyone else could possibly imagine.

Despite this reasoning, I let Peeta see my pain that night. I let him hold me until the shuddering sobs stopped, and I was able to function again. I think a part of my acceptance of him was because I knew he could sympathize with me. Like me, he's lost his entire family. Neither one of us has anyone left to share our lives with. Our houses are both empty and quiet at night, our beds cold and lonesome.

I've been spending more time at Peeta's home since that night. I'm still not great at socializing, but I go over to visit him nonetheless. I pretend I do it to make sure he has fresh meat to cook. We both know he can afford to buy whatever supplies he might need, but the meat that comes from the Capitol train isn't squirrel.

We trade. Squirrel for bread. I hunt. He bakes. He cooks. I set the table and try to stay out of his way. We share meals and try to act like the conversation isn't stunted. It's a comfortable routine. Some nights I stay, curled up on his couch with a blanket that holds the lingering scent of Peeta. Just his scent is enough to keep the nightmares at bay most nights.

Some nights Peeta sleeps in the chair next to the couch, though this usually results in him being stiff in the morning. Other times, he falls asleep on the floor below my couch. I like when he falls asleep here. He's closer. If I'm still awake and I see his expression twist in fear of whatever nightmare he's trapped in, I can reach down and smooth my fingers along his hair, his jaw. I can bring him back to a peaceful sleep when he's within touching distance.

Being close means he can get to me quicker when I have nightmares of my own. He starts on the floor but most nights he ends up on the couch with me. I've grown so used to this that on nights when I have no excuse to hang around, I'm nearly shaking with fear at the thought of crawling into my own bed. It's selfish but I don't want to sleep if Peeta isn't there to help with the nightmares. I hope he feels the same way, but I doubt he even knows that I caress away his bad dreams whenever I have the chance.

This morning is one of the good ones, the third in a row. I wake with Peeta next to me on the couch, cocooning me in between his body and the back of the sofa. There were no nightmares for either one of us last night as far as I know. We'd been watching Plutarch's new television show, the one with the singing competition and had fallen asleep next to each other on the couch. Somehow in the middle of the night, we'd shifted to how we are now.

Peeta's right arm is slung over my waist, and his head is tucked in against my neck, his breath tickling my throat as it shifts my hair about. One of my knees is tucked ever so slightly between his. My palm rests on his chest, more precisely just over his heart.

I take a moment to process the realization that I don't mind being so close to him. It feels good actually. It makes me feel connected to a world I've felt so removed from up until a few weeks ago. Seeing as he is still asleep, I find it a safe moment to whisper, "You're very handsome when you sleep."

The sound of my voice jars him awake. Peeta's eyes fly open, and he gives a cry of surprise before tumbling off the couch.

My eyes widen as I watch him spill to the floor, and then I am laughing. I bury my face into the seat of the couch and try to muffle the sound. Peeta has never been graceful or quiet, but the loud thud that echoes through his house as his body hits the floor is worse than his usual racket. I pretend to be asleep, but I know I'm failing miserably when a loud snort escapes me.

"You find that funny?" Peeta's stunned voice asks, though his tone is amused.

Before I can even answer, his hands are at my waist, and he begins tickling me mercilessly.

A cry of surprise escapes my throat and my laughter doubles. I squirm to get away from him, giving a squeal as his fingers continue to attack my ribs. In the back of my mind, I think about the last time someone ever tickled me. It was my father. No one else has ever been close enough to me to even think about doing such a thing. It might have been just as long since I've laughed this hard.

My life has never been easy. I've always been far too serious to giggle and behave like a girl. I'd never been given the option to even think about choosing that type of carefree existence. Laughing now feels foreign…and wonderful. Though the option to be girly was taken from me a long time ago, right now, I feel like I have a glimpse as to what it might have been like.

I slip off the couch in my struggle to get away from Peeta, but only end up tumbling into his lap.

He makes a sound of surprise and topples backwards, his elbows hitting the floor.

I land on top of him with my legs entwined with his. My hands reach out to catch myself and end up pressed against his chest. My lips are mere inches from his, our bodies flush up against each other.

My laughter abruptly stops as I stare into his blue eyes. I am suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Then a squeak of shock escapes me when I realize I'm entertaining the idea of kissing him.

I scramble off of him so fast that I fear I may have jammed my knee into his groin.

The look of discomfort on his face confirms that I indeed did catch him in a very sensitive area. "Sorry," Peeta manages to gasp out, his expression contrite.

His apology only makes me feel more awkward. Trying to appear casual, I shrug. "For what?" Without waiting for him to answer, I turn for the kitchen at a brisk pace. I busy myself with pouring a glass of milk while he collects his wits and follows at a slower speed, limping slightly from the unmistakable ache in his groin.

When he enters the kitchen, he follows my lead and pretends the incident in the living room never happened. "I wanted to run something by you this morning," he says casually as he pours himself a glass of milk as well.

His request makes me forget all about the incident in the living room. "Yeah?" I ask, unable to keep the suspicion from my voice. I'm wary of anything that he would need to formally request, though the urge to run lessens when he lowers his glass to reveal a milk mustache. It's hard to feel threatened when he sports a line of milk on his upper lip. "What did you need?" I add a little more pleasantly.

"Today is Thanksgiving," he states as if this is something I'm already aware of. "I was hoping I could convince you to go out into the woods and get us a turkey. I was thinking of cooking a traditional Thanksgiving dinner tonight. I was going to see if Haymitch would join us as well."

I blink at him for a moment in dumbfounded silence. "Thanksgiving," I repeat slowly. "Dinner. With Haymitch." I've never had a Thanksgiving dinner. Thanksgiving to me used to symbolize an opportunity to get in a few extra trades. The rich families in the District used to celebrate the holiday. They'd all looked to me to provide them with wild birds.

I'd taken in extra provisions for Prim and my mother to be spread out across the week. We never had a big dinner. We never celebrated. Apparently Peeta's family had done something to observe the pointless holiday. They'd never been one of the families to ask for turkeys from me, but they'd obviously done something.

"It will be fun," he informs me.

"With Haymitch," I repeat to make sure he's heard himself.

Peeta nods, confirming that he is aware of what he's said. "With Haymitch." He arches his eyebrows. "Please?"

With that pleading look, Peeta once again convinces me to participate in a silly holiday. Looks like I'll be hunting wild bird today.

X X X

Not only did I find a turkey for our dinner, I had it plucked and ready for preparation by the time I returned to Peeta's house. He'd whisked the bird off to the kitchen and set to work the instant I was through the doorway.

He'd been busy while I was gone. He had a pumpkin pie baking in the oven, and he'd gotten potatoes from the Capitol train that he now had baking alongside the pie. He'd also convinced our neighbor and mentor to join us. I thought it was a ridiculous amount of effort to go through for myself and Haymitch, but it made Peeta happy.

I snatch up the handwritten recipe book that has _Mellark Family_ scrawled across the front from a shelf in the living room and turn back toward the kitchen. I'm barely a few feet away from the bookshelf when Peeta lets out a holler. The sound of clattering dishes follows a second later.

"Peeta!" I cry in alarm as I cross the living room at a run. My heart is in my throat as I burst into the kitchen. What I find has me skidding to a halt in surprise.

Peeta is scrambling around on the ground, trying to clean up a dumped bowl of fruit while simultaneously keeping Buttercup at bay.

I stare for a moment in disbelief before a laugh escapes me. Of all the things I expected to find, this is not at the top of the list. "I thought something bad happened!"

Peeta looks up with an almost frantic look. "Something bad did happen," he stresses. "Your cat just dumped my fruit."

I walk over and lift Buttercup away from the spilled bowl. "How did he even get in here?"

A guilty expression fills Peeta's face. "I let him in while you were out hunting. He was scratching at the back door. I think he misses you."

I survey the cat with skepticism. "Really?" With a shrug, I tuck Buttercup under my arm then hold the recipe book out to Peeta. "Here you go."

He takes it and, with a glance, shoots me an apologetic look. "This is the Mellark recipe book. I wanted my personal one." He smiles almost fondly as he turns the book over in his hand. "I like to experiment a little more with flavors. My mother never wanted to waste any supplies with creativity."

I don't want to voice my thoughts, but I agree with Mrs. Mellark. Before winning the games, I didn't waste a single scrap of food, especially not to experiment with different tastes. "I'll go get the other book." Sitting Buttercup down, I take the Mellark Family cookbook from him and head back into the living room.

I replace the book and lift a second one from the shelf. This one is written in Peeta's familiar handwriting and has his name done on the front in blue paint. I thumb through it with a fond smile, reading his notes and comments with affection. I'm just about to push into the kitchen again when I hear him let out another holler.

"Just throw the cat outside," I say with a laugh as I enter the room. It takes me a moment to realize Buttercup has nothing to do with Peeta's strangled cry.

He's gripping the back of one of the kitchen chairs, his eyes wide with horror. It doesn't look like he is even breathing.

"Peeta?" I ask cautiously. I inch closer, my heart beginning to pound in my chest as I suspect that he's suffering from a flashback. I've never seen one firsthand before and am more terrified by the reality of it than I'd suspected. "Peeta?"

He doesn't even respond. He simply stares off into space, his face a mask of terror. It's as if he doesn't even see me.

I'm afraid to get any closer. I'm afraid to move. I'm afraid to even breathe.

A full minute goes by before Peeta's hands relax on the back of the chair, and his shoulders lose some of their tension. His blue eyes lift to mine, and he asks in a wounded, helpless voice, "In our second games, you shoved me into the force field that stopped my heart. Real or not real?"

My eyes widen in horror. "Not real," I gasp out. It disturbs me that Snow would do such a thing to this boy's mind. How could he damage Peeta's memory so completely that he could ever wonder if I'd do such a thing? I would never hurt him. Surely, he has to know that. I feel sick at the possibility of him doubting me.

The fear begins to slowly leak out of his eyes, returning him to the Peeta I know. "I didn't think so," he says softly. He releases his grip on the chair and flexes his fingers to get the blood circulating again. "You cried when Finnick revived me, because you'd been worried that I might be dead. Real or not real?"

"Real," I whisper in answer.

Peeta nods, swallowing thickly. "Then that memory is genuine. I thought it was. I just…I wanted to make sure."

I stare at him in silence, though I want to ask him so many questions. I want to know how often he has these flashbacks. I want to ask how much they debilitate his life, but I don't have the courage.

He swallows again, his face haggard and pale. "I should get back to dinner," he says in a strained voice.

Silently, I hand him his recipe book. Then I take a seat at the kitchen table and busy myself with rearranging the center piece of flowers. I can't bring myself to ask him about his flashbacks, and he won't tell. We're stuck in a stalemate that neither of us has the courage to break.

X X X

I am pleasantly surprised with how well Peeta's Thanksgiving dinner has turned out. The turkey is incredible, the potatoes perfectly baked. Peeta is not only an amazing cook, he's the perfect host. He has Haymitch behaving like a decent human being, not a small task.

"This is really good, Peeta," I compliment as I take a bite of buttered carrots. "You really went all out."

He grins at me from across the table, and I'm reminded once again how easy it is for me to make him happy. My compliment wipes away any traces of his earlier flashback, leaving him youthful and animated.

"You didn't burn it," Haymitch adds, giving the closest thing to a compliment Peeta is going to get from him.

"It's the best food you'll eat all month," I inform our mentor a little tersely, feeling the need to defend Peeta's meal.

Haymitch shrugs and shovels a forkful of turkey into his mouth.

Seemingly motivated by our praise, Peeta puts his fork down and looks expectantly at Haymitch and I. "I think it's time we each share something we're thankful for."

"Huh?" I muster out and glance warily at Haymitch. His reluctance matches my own.

Peeta doesn't notice or doesn't want to notice our lack of enthusiasm. "On Thanksgiving, it's tradition to share something you're thankful for with the people you are celebrating with," he explains.

"I'm aware of the tradition," I say unenthusiastically.

Peeta once again ignores my hesitation. He turns to Haymitch with an open, eager expression. "Would you like to go first?"

Haymitch stares at Peeta for a moment before lifting the wine bottle at his elbow to his lips. He takes a long swig before answering. "I'm thankful we only have to do this once a year." He emphasizes this with a loud burp.

Peeta flinches but attempts to keep up his jovial mood. "Katniss?" he asks, turning to me with his forced cheer.

"I don't have anything to be thankful for," I say despondently. I feel angry at him for forcing me to participate in this. My sister is dead. I am responsible for the deaths of not just Prim but numerous friends. Gale has left me. My mother has abandoned me. All in all, it's been a pretty terrible year. I can't muster up anything positive to say, not even for Peeta.

His face falls, and he looks completely crushed.

Instantly, I feel guilty. I should have lied. I should have come up with something, anything. The look on his face is almost too much for me to bear. I'd be thankful if I could take back my harsh words.

"Well," Peeta says softly as he lifts his fork and pushes some stuffing around on his plate, "I'm thankful for you, Katniss." The silence that follows his statement is so uncomfortable that he finally climbs to his feet, picks up his plate, and walks into the kitchen.

"Way to go, sweetheart," Haymitch says sarcastically as he takes another guzzle of his alcohol. "You just keep finding ways to crush that boy's spirits."

"You didn't do any better," I snap angrily.

"He's not in love with me," Haymitch points out as he climbs to his feet. "I don't have nearly the ability to hurt him as you do." With that, he disappears into the kitchen to give Peeta his farewell and leave me to dwell on his words. Like I wasn't feeling guilty enough.

X X X

Certain that Peeta will not want my company tonight, I move to the door and start to pull on my boots once I've helped him clean up the dirty dishes and pack up the leftovers from our Thanksgiving meal. Haymitch left hours ago, leaving me to deal with the awkward silence. I give a grunt of annoyance at the way Haymitch bailed on me as I shove my second foot into a boot.

"You're leaving?" Peeta's voice asks softly from the kitchen doorway.

I pause with my hand outstretched toward my jacket. "You want me to stay?" I ask skeptically.

Peeta makes a show of looking out the window to the darkness beyond. "It's dark out. I don't like the idea of you walking home by yourself in the dark."

His reasoning is laughable. I've competed in two Hunger Games and fought in a war. I am more than capable of walking myself home in the dark. Besides, he could always walk me if he is truly concerned. I latch onto his excuse though. "It is very dark out," I agree.

Peeta walks over and takes my jacket, pulling it out of my reach. "Stay."

He only says one simple word but it sends a jolt of relief down my spine. I don't like going back to my house. It has never really felt like mine, and I know I'll have nightmares without Peeta sleeping next to me. "I can stay," I conceed as if I am giving him his way and not receiving exactly what I want as well.

I'm slipping out of my boots when he cautiously says, "If you don't mind…" He trails off nervously, his face searching mine. "Could we sleep in the bedroom tonight?" He grimaces and rubs his elbow. "That couch just isn't big enough."

Our eyes lock and I stare into the beautiful blue orbs of his irises. "Okay," I finally choke out.

Peeta's cheeks flush at my acceptance, which only causes me to blush as well. "Why don't you go upstairs and get a shower?" he suggests gingerly. "I'll finish cleaning up here and get a shower once you're finished."

I quickly make my exit. I need a moment to think. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I can't keep from wringing my hands nervously. Sharing Peeta's couch is one thing. Sharing his bed is a completely different situation.

I rush into bathroom and strip out of my clothing in record time. I'm in the shower with the curtain closed for fear of him walking in on me. It's a silly thing to be nervous about after all the times my prep team has stripped me naked and prodded me. But Peeta is not my prep team.

As I lather shampoo into my hair, I wince as I realize that it smells like Peeta. It's like being enveloped in his scent. It does nothing to settle my nerves. I don't like where my thoughts are going, so I quickly scrub myself free of soap and towel myself dry.

I'm climbing out of the shower when there is a gentle knock at the door. "I left you a change of clothes on the bed," Peeta's voice calls through the door.

Wrapping the towel in my hands tightly around my body, I gather my nerve and swing the bathroom door open to face him.

Peeta jumps in surprise at the sight of me in the towel, but he's quick to avert his eyes. "I'll be out in a few minutes," he says, his voice strained with uneasiness.

I merely nod and squeeze past him into the hallway. I waste no time in rushing into the bedroom. I close the door firmly behind me and wait until I hear the shower start up before I carefully remove the towel.

On the bed I find a baggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I've left my undergarments in a messy pile on the bathroom floor, so I have no choice but to go without them. I climb into Peeta's clothing and sit on the edge of the bed to wait for him.

As I sit there, my eyes lift to find a canvass above his dresser that steals the breath from my lungs. It's done in heavy, colorful chalks. The portrait is of me.

Most of Peeta's artwork is his version of therapy. They are dark and disturbing, not something one would want to hang in their bedroom. This piece is the exact opposite. It's a drawing from the interview in which Peeta proposed to me in front of all of Panem.

It shows me in my dress looking lovelier than I know can possibly be true. I'm showing off the design done by Cinna, my face alight with joy. At that point in time, I'd been trying so desperately to prove to Snow that my affection for Peeta was genuine. I'd been faking that joy, but to Peeta's skilled hands and perception, my happiness looks real. I wonder if this is how he remembers that moment, me looking beautiful and exuberant.

Unable to stop myself, I climb to my feet and make my way over to the portrait. I reach out to it, my fingers caressing over the rough texture, chalk coming away on my fingertips. I look so beautiful it nearly brings tears to my eyes. My cheeks are pink with jubilation, my lips full and glossed with whatever my prep team dabbed on them. My eyes are bright and vibrant.

I feel almost embarrassed as I study the way the dress fits against the curves of my body. Peeta's gotten every last detail down: the folds in the dress, small designs in the fabric, the soft hint of cleavage that curves above the bodice at the neckline. I swallow thickly as I finally understand the comment Peeta made long ago. _She has no idea the effect she can have._ I finally understand the effect I have on him. It's all here in this drawing. My eyes flick over my breasts, my hips, over every detail that should have been impossible for him to recollect.

"That's my favorite drawing," he says quietly from behind me.

I gasp in surprise and spin to face him, feeling as if I've been caught snooping. "There's so much detail."

"It was a memorable moment."

I look away. At that moment in time, Peeta had thought I was going to be his wife. The proposal was just a safety measure to keep Snow pleased, but to Peeta it had obviously counted as so much more. "Yes, memorable. Quite the skilled actors we were."

I turn my back and walk to the bed, not wanting to see his face after my comment. As I climb under the blankets, purposely keeping my back to him, I wonder how many times I am going to hurt him today. How many times will I say cruel things to him before he gives up on me? I remember that moment after he was rescued from the Capitol where I thought he'd never care for me again. I don't ever want to feel that way for a second time.

Despite my concerns, I do nothing when he climbs into bed behind me. He lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling in silence.

I continue to face away from him, my hands balled into fists. I've survived so much, but confronting Peeta in this moment is far beyond my level of bravery. Instead, I lay in silence and listen to his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. It's a comforting sound. Unconsciously, I match my breathing to his. Inhale. Exhale.

After a few minutes, I'm certain he's drifted off to sleep. I roll to face him, taking in the smooth, peaceful appearance of his face. I finally have the courage to scoot in against his side. I slide my palm up his chest to rest over his heart. I feel the steady beat under my palm, and it relaxes me the last little bit, so I am able to whisper, "I'm sorry I ruined your Thanksgiving." I wait. My heart thumps with adrenaline as I add, "I am thankful for something, Peeta. I'm thankful for you as well." I feel as if a weight has been lifted off my chest after the words leave my mouth. He might not have heard them, but at least I was able to admit it to myself. I'm grateful to have Peeta Mellark in my life.

"I know you are," he murmurs into my hair.

I freeze in horror at the sound of his voice. I'd never intended for him to hear me. Ever. These were thoughts I was afraid to admit to myself. I was far from ready for him to hear them.

I don't know what to do, how to react. I'm about to bolt from the bed and run back to my own house when his arm snakes around my waist, and he pulls me closer.

"Good-night, Katniss," he whispers in my ear.

I'm relieved that he isn't going to press the issue. He accepts my statement and leaves it at that. "Good-night, Peeta," I whisper in return. I feel him smile against the top of my head, but I'm fine with that. As I settle my head on his shoulder, I can't help but think that maybe Thanksgiving wasn't such a pointless holiday after all.


	3. Chapter 3 Christmas

Once again, thank you for the feedback! I love seeing it! And for the reader with the question on berries being in season: blackberries are in season during Halloween. Not the best tasting berries out there, but to starving children, they are still a treat! Enjoy the next section!

Christmas

Since Thanksgiving, Peeta has become my best friend in the entire world. I'd thought in the past that Gale knew me better than anyone, but Peeta has far surpassed Gale's knowledge.

Peeta knows exactly what I need at any point in the day, on any day. When I need a laugh, he's there with some goofy antic to drag one out of me. When I fall into sadness where I only want to mourn the losses we've suffered with some privacy, he fades into the background, his fingers busy with a painting to help with his own troubled thoughts. He is so attuned to my every emotion, it's like he's an extension of myself. I've never felt so connected to another person in my entire life. Not Gale, and I will guiltily admit not even Prim.

I don't have to tiptoe around Peeta. With my sister, I always tried to save her the horrors of what happened to me in those games and how much they truly affected me. With Peeta, I can break down. I can scream and pull at my hair without worrying that he thinks I'm losing it. He has his own moments, so he can relate. Instead of feeling concerned for the others' sanity, we use comfort to draw each other back to reality.

Peeta is always there to wrap his arms around me and whisper soft words of encouragement when a memory gets too painful for me to bear. When he suffers a flashback, I am always quick to wrap my arms around his waist and hug him tight. I can bring him back and assure him that what he sees isn't real.

Instead of making a big deal about our moments of weakness, we have the confidence and trust to make light of it. Peeta has actually turned his 'real or not real' into a witty game. Some mornings, he'll ask me, "You left dirty clothes on my bathroom floor. Real or not real?" And I'll guilty answer, "Real." Or he'll say, "You lent Haymitch one of my measuring cups? Real or not real?" And once again, I'll guiltily say, "Real." To which he replies, "Terrible." We don't make the other feel uncomfortable about their flashbacks or breakdowns. I don't think anyone else could have done this for me but Peeta. No one else could possibly know me like him. He's my best friend, the most important person in the world to me. I feel comfortable with him. He's become…family.

I lie in bed and think about this new revelation. Peeta is my family. A smile spreads across my lips at this thought. It feels so right, so natural. Then he shifts against me in his sleep, and my warm feelings suddenly freeze in my mind.

I can't place my discomfort right away, but it is definitely there. Peeta's done this a thousand times, pulled me back against him in his sleep. His arm as it slides against my hip is nothing new.

Then I comprehend what my concern is. Pressed against my back is his…his… I'm embarrassed to even think it, but I force myself to do so. Peeta has an erection, and it is flush up against me.

I know he's sleeping and that he can't possibly know what he's doing, but that doesn't make it any less awkward. The two of us have stayed so carefully in the friend zone. It can be challenging, living alone with a grown man. There are always those uncomfortable moments. Just last week he'd accidently walked in on me while I was changing. There was much blushing and apologizing. The two of us had barely been able to look at each other the rest of the evening. We'd also slept a mile away from each other that night.

A few day before that, Peeta had lost his towel when we slipped past each other in the hallway after his shower. He'd been on his way to his room, and I'd been heading into the bathroom to get a shower of my own. I'd raced into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, pretending I hadn't seen anything. I'd definitely seen more than was comfortable for a friend living under the same roof. There were other moments, incidental brushes or misplaced hands that we mutually ignored. It was a challenge, but we'd kept things very platonic.

Right now, Peeta is crossing that line we'd carefully drawn. With embarrassment, I scoot away from him in an attempt to climb out of bed.

It wakes him, and he gives a tired mumble. Before he is fully in control of his waking mind, Peeta's arm tightens on my waist, and he pulls back against him.

I gasp as he presses to my bottom, the length and stiffness of him a shock to me. Peeta is not a small man, and it becomes quite apparent that he is anatomically proportioned. My experience with this sort of thing is nonexistent. I am so embarrassed, I can't think straight. "Peeta," I say firmly, proud that my voice doesn't show how shaken I am. "Let go of me."

The commanding tone of my voice seems to pull him out of the remaining haze of sleep. With a confused murmur, he shifts, and then inhales sharply as he realizes the reason for my discomfort. He pulls away so quickly it's as if my skin is on fire. "Oh my God!" He bolts upright in bed, his cheeks aflame with a blush. "I am so sorry. I…" He trails off in horror before quickly throwing the blankets over his lap to cover himself.

I climb out of bed, feeling more flustered than I can ever remember being. "It's fine, Peeta." I just want him to drop it. Talking about it will only make things more uncomfortable. "It's okay."

"No. It's not okay. That was very inappropriate and…" His words die off with his mortification. He finally looks at my face, and seeing the uneasiness there actually bring a crooked smile to his face. "I just embarrassed us both by getting an erection. Real or not real?"

The question is so unexpected that I burst into laughter. "Real!" And just like that, Peeta turns something embarrassing into something we can laugh about.

His nose scrunches with a playful grimace. "I was afraid of that." Now that the majority of the discomfort has worn off and he's had time to calm down somewhat, Peeta climbs out of bed. He quickly adjusts his sweatpants to hide the remainder of his excitement and moves to his dresser.

I am unable to keep my eyes from following his movements to the front of his pants. Before I can stop myself, I observe, "That's quite a weapon you've got." As soon as the words are out of my mouth, my eyes widen in disbelief. I can't even fathom why I would say something like that. Perhaps it is because this is the first contact I've ever had with the male reproductive organ and despite my embarrassment, I'm somewhat curious.

Peeta's face registers shock a moment before his cheeks flame with a deep blush. "I…I have to go out this morning," he mumbles as he riffles through his dresser for a pair of slacks.

"No," I argue, "Peeta, don't go. I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that." I stare at him almost pleadingly. "You don't have to leave."

An amused chuckle escapes him, and he turns from his dresser to fully face me. "I actually do have somewhere to go this morning," he assures me. "You're not running me off." He arches his eyebrows with a little smile. "Besides, this is my house. Where would I go?"

I flinch at this. "I really am sorry."

He smiles, showing that he isn't upset by my careless slip. "I know." He pulls a shirt from his dresser and heads toward the hallway on his way to the bathroom. At the doorway, he pauses and turns to grin at me. "Besides, that was quite the compliment. Why would I be upset about that?"

With that, he leaves me standing alone in his bedroom, amused yet embarrassed.

X X X

Peeta was not lying about having somewhere to be. When he comes trudging back through the front door of his house nearly three hours later, I can't keep the surprise from my face. "Peeta," I ask in astonishment as he drags a giant pine tree through the door, leaving bristles in his wake, "what are you doing? Why do you have a tree? What is that for?" I am so bewildered that I just sit there and stare, leaving him to lug the tree into the living room by himself.

"Christmas tree," he struggles out, his boots clomping loudly on the floor.

"Christmas tree?" I repeat in confusion.

He stops and drops the trunk of the heavy tree to the floor. He's sweating and breathing hard, looking far more attractive than I am willing to admit as he wipes a hand across the perspiration on his forehead. "Yes. A Christmas tree. It's tradition."

"What is it with you and all of these traditions?" I asked in amazement. "Halloween. Thanksgiving…."

He takes off the gloves covering his hands and shoots me a boyish grin. "You make me want to celebrate." Before I can respond, he moves around the tree to examine the branches. "It's a good one," he proclaims proudly. "Nice and sturdy."

His cheer is infectious, causing me to walk around the side of the tree to stand next to him. I purse my lips as I look at the tree, and then the ceiling of his home. "Will it even fit? I swear, you cut down the biggest tree in District 12."

"I wanted us to have a nice tree," Peeta informs me. "I wanted it to be the best one in the entire district."

His words reverberate through me. It took me a moment to realize my reaction was due to his casual reference to the two of us. It was _our_ tree, not just his. "It's beautiful," I inform him.

"I only have a few bulbs to put on it," he says regretfully. "I only kept a few here. Most of my family's decorations were kept above the bakery."

It amazes me that he has gotten past the pain enough to casually mention his family. I still can't speak Prim's name without resorting to tears.

"Do you have anything at your house?" he asks as he works to get the tree standing. "I think I have a wreath somewhere, a few glass bulbs, nothing special."

"I don't have anything," I comment softly.

"Nothing?" he asks in surprise. "Your family was staying in Victor's Village. You guys left all your Christmas decorations at the old house in the Seam?" He's so busy wrestling with the tree that he misses the pain that spreads across my face.

"We never celebrated Christmas."

This finally gets his attention. "You didn't celebrate Christmas?" he asks in disbelief. "Why not?"

"We couldn't afford it," I admit. I'm so ashamed of this fact that I avoid looking at him. I'd known that Peeta and I were from different worlds when it came to our old lives, but its little circumstances like these that really prove it.

"Oh, Katniss," he says gently. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

I look away, not wanting him to see the vulnerable expression that I'm sure is splashed across my face. His hug catches me off guard. I jump, but he only tightens his grip instead of letting go.

"Then we'll celebrate your first Christmas together," he whispers.

I don't know what to say. I'm touched by his ever willingness to give, especially when I've done nothing to deserve it. I open my mouth to speak, but before I can think of anything worth saying, Peeta kisses the top of my head and walks away.

"It will be special," he promises over his shoulder as he heads to his storage room to look for decorations.

X X X

Peeta wasn't exaggerating when he said Christmas would be special. I wake to a steaming plate of green and red pancakes and a peppermint milkshake in bed. "What is this?" I ask with a laugh as I sit up and brush my hair away from my face so I can examine the oddly colored pancakes more closely.

"Christmas breakfast," Peeta says as he sits on the side of the bed with the steaming tray balanced carefully on his lap.

I keep a wary eye on the pancakes, but lift up the milkshake to take a tentative taste. "What did you do to those?" I inquire around a mouthful of delightful milk and ice.

"Food coloring," he explains as he lifts a fork to cut the pancakes into small squares. "I use it for cookies mostly, but today seemed like a good excuse to experiment with something else." He stabs a green square and holds it out for me to taste.

"You first," I demand, taking another sip of the creamy milkshake. "It's green."

Laughing, Peeta pops the green chunk into his mouth and takes his time chewing. Once he swallows, he opens his mouth to prove that he's eaten it. "It's good," he assures.

Seeing as he's not falling over and holding his stomach in agony, I give in. "Okay. Give me a piece."

He spears a red square and hold the fork out to me with the enticing smelling food dangling in front of my lips.

Leaning forward, I take the chunk of pancake and chew thoughtfully. It's good, like really good. It's fluffy and soft. And it tastes like vanilla. I close my eyes and moan with delight. I can't remember the last time I've eaten anything that's tasted this good.

When I open my eyes again, Peeta is grinning at me with absolute delight. "Okay. It's good," I admit. Sliding back against the headboard, I motion for him to climb further onto the bed.

He sits facing me, the tray of food resting between us.

Though there are two forks, I continue to let Peeta feed me each bite. I think we're both enjoying it better this way. We've spent so much time distancing ourselves from others that it's nice to share this intimate moment.

The next forty minutes are spent laughing and feeding each other the oddly colored chunks of pancakes. By the time the plate is clean, I am stuffed, and Peeta looks like he can barely force down his last bite.

It's an unspoken rule between us that we never gorge on food. After seeing so many people starve, we can't even stomach the thought. Things are better in 12, but there is still that lingering guilt of having a full belly.

Today is special though. I allow myself to have this one day. I refuse to feel guilty. After everything I've been through, I deserve this day. And so does Peeta. He's been through so much, and he's lost everyone close to him.

Before I can lose my nerve, I lean across the empty tray toward him. I grab his wrist and lower the fork away from his mouth. I see his confusion as I lean closer. Just as my lips are meeting his, I see realization dawn in his eyes, and they widen.

I close my own eyes, because looking at him will shatter my nerve. Then I press my lips softly to his, my hands still gripping his wrist for courage. He tastes like vanilla from the pancakes, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

I've known all along that if something was ever to happen between the two of us, I would have to be the one to initiate it. Peeta is too much of a gentleman, and he's been hurt too many times by me. He still doesn't know where he stands.

_I'm_ still not sure where he stands. I've not made up my mind about what I want from life, what I want from him, but at this moment, kissing him feels right.

I only allow my lips to touch his briefly, though I'm tempted to linger there against his vanilla flavored mouth. I pull back to stare into his wide blue eyes. "Thank you for breakfast." With that I slide out of bed and make my way to the bathroom for a shower. One kiss is all I can give him, but as I close the bathroom door behind me, I lean against it with a smile. It was only one kiss, but as kisses go, it had been really nice.

X X X

The rest of the day flew by like a dream. Peeta and I spent the entire day together, locked up in his house without interference from the outside world. He'd invited Haymitch to join us, but it turns out our mentor had a date. With Effie. It was so weird and unexplainable, but yet it makes sense. Effie might be the only person who could ever keep Haymitch from acting like a Neanderthal. He'd actually stopped drinking for an entire week in order to prepare for their dinner together.

"Are you ready for the best part of the day?" Peeta asks eagerly, tearing my thoughts away from Haymitch.

"You're saying this raspberry cake wasn't the best part?" I ask as I lick the last few crumbs from my fork. "I don't think it gets better than this cake."

Peeta climbs to his feet, leaving his plate at the table, and crosses to my side. "No. The cake wasn't the best part." Taking my hands, he pulls me to my feet as well. "Come into the living room."

I laugh as he tugs me along, unable to help myself. Peeta gets so delighted at the simplest things. His joy is one of the things that keep me going. If it wasn't for Peeta, I would have fallen into my grief and never come back out again. "What's so important?" I asked in amusement.

He drags me over to the tree, and I stop to stare at it for a moment in appreciation. Despite my reservations about having it in the house, the tree is breathtaking. He's decorated it perfectly with tinsel and shiny bulbs. It's so festive and charming that no one but Peeta could have decorated it.

With a wide grin, Peeta flops to the ground and sits at the base of the tree.

Our joint hands forces me to join him. "What are you doing?" I laugh.

"It's time for your gift," he informs me.

This statement sends a jolt of alarm through me. Gifts? I wasn't aware that such a thing was to take place. As he slides a large, hastily wrapped package from behind the tree, I gape at him in distress. "Peeta, I didn't know," I apologize. "I didn't get you anything."

The lopsided grin he shoots me is not at all appropriate for my admission. "It's okay," he assures. "You being here is the best gift you could have ever given me." He shoves the package in my direction. "Open it."

I hesitate, feeling guilty, but the look on his face lets me know that he isn't lying. All he wants is for me to be here. He doesn't care about gifts or what hasn't been fair in our relationship up until this point. He just wants to see my reaction to whatever it is he's gotten for me.

I'm so moved by his selfless nature that I feel tears prickling at my eyes. To keep him from noticing, I lower my head over the package and rip the thin paper away. What lies under the wrapping does nothing to stop my tears.

Protected by a handmade, wooden frame is one of Peeta's paintings. Smiling up from the canvass is my sister. A sob escapes my throat at the sight of her beautiful face, a face I thought I'd never see again.

Time makes memories harder to recall, and I'd begun to forget the exact shade of her eyes, the way her hair used to flow over her shoulders. Peeta had brought every memory rushing to the surface. He's recreated every tiny detail, every little freckle. How could he have known Prim well enough to do this? Another sob escapes me, and I lift my hand to cover my mouth.

His arms are around me an instant later, pulling me in against him as I work my way through tears and anguish. His hand runs over my hair, soothing me. "I didn't mean to make you cry," he whispers. "I just thought you would like to have it. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," I sob into his shirt. "It's perfect." A loud, wracking sob escapes me, and I bury my face in his shirt to muffle the sound. I can feel the fabric soaking under my cheek, but I can't stop.

Pulling back, I stare into his eyes, unable to see them well through my tears. As I stare at him, I finally realize what I want. Taking a deep breath for courage, I lift my gaze to the little bundle of leaves pinned to the doorway almost directly above us. "Mistletoe," I say with a sniffle. "Traditionally…" I trail off and have to swallow before I can say, "I know how you are about tradition. We've stuck to every other one these past few months. We might as well continue."

Peeta's eyes widened in surprise a moment before I lean forward and press my lips to his. For the second time today, we are kissing.

I don't keep this one brief though. I slide my arm around his neck and pull his face down to mine. I can taste my tears, and I'm sure he can too, but I don't stop. I move my mouth over his, moving closer so I can arch my chest up against his.

This seems to be Peeta's undoing. I've unraveled his careful restraint. As I move against him, he gives a low growl and his arm slides around my waist. He pulls me against him and deepens the kiss. It's rough and passionate.

This kiss is like nothing I've ever experienced before. Maybe because it's the first time we've kissed each other without the distractions of a camera crew to interfere. There's no one else watching. The world doesn't get to see this. It's just me and Peeta.

By the time we pull apart, we're both breathless and gasping for air. Peeta's blue eyes are wide with astonishment, and he runs a hand through his short, blond hair. Licking his lips, he says, "I thought you could hang your picture of Prim in your front hall, like how I have my painting of my family."

I'm still breathing hard, but I try to concentrate on the seriousness the painting deserves. "No," I say firmly. "Can I hang it here? With your family? That place has never felt like home to me. I don't want to leave her over there." It takes a moment for me to realize what I've said. Peeta's house feels like home to me. More than mine ever will.

He catches the meaning too, because he lowers his mouth over mine for another kiss. "Sure. We can hang your painting here." Then he's kissing me again.

X X X

That night the nightmares come. How could they not? I've locked away all doubt and mourning for one day of peace. It's only fair that my demons finally get their say. I dream of Christmas, of Christmas trees burning with my sister tangles in their branches. As with every nightmare, I'm helpless to save her. I watch Prim die in a new and horrifying way before I wake screaming.

I'm frantic and thrashing, scream after scream tearing their way out of my throat until it's raw. I feel arms reaching for me in the dark, and I strike out in terror. I hear a grunt of pain, and then Peeta's comforting voice.

"Katniss, stop. Katniss, it's okay." Despite the fact that I've just kicked him, he wraps his arms tightly around me, forcing me to return to reality.

A shuddering sob escapes as the dream begins to fade and reality sets in. There are no flaming trees, and Prim is already dead. Nothing can hurt her anymore.

"Shh," he whispers in my ear. "It's okay. I'm here. You're okay."

With another sob, I cling to him, my entire body trembling. "Don't leave me," I beg.

"Never," he sooths as he runs his hand over my hair, tucking it behind my ear. Then something new happens. His lips caress ever so gently against my temple. "I'm never leaving you." Then he kisses my cheek with a feathery light brush of lips. "No matter what." Then my nose.

I lift my face to him as the next kiss comes.

His mouth is on mine, gently at first, but the passion intensifies.

My hands slide up to his face as I let him comfort me in a whole new way. I lift my hip off the bed as he grazes a hand along it, touching me in a way neither of us have ever dared before.

I'm cupping his face in my hands and swallowing up every last one of his kisses.

Peeta groans softly and it draws a whimper from my lips before I can stop it. His hand on my hip is now pulling me against the front of his body.

A second whimper escapes me, and it seems to force some sense back into him. Peeta pulls back with a breathless laugh. "Feel better?" he asks.

"Much," I whisper breathlessly.

"Good." Using the hand he has on my hip, Peeta rolls me to face away from him. Then he gathers me in his arms and holds securely against his familiar body. "Let's get some sleep."

My back is against the warmth of his chest, and his arm is wrapped tightly around my waist. When his fingertips brush along my stomach, the muscles bunch in delight. This is all so new. I don't have a clue what I'm doing, but my body seems to know the appropriate responses. It shivers in delight and arches up into his touch.

Chuckling, Peeta lets his hand continue to gently caress along my stomach. Then he presses a kiss to the side of my neck. "Merry Christmas, Katniss."

I smile and snuggle back against him, reveling in the feel of his large, strong body cocooning mine. "Merry Christmas, Peeta."

If you like my style of writing and would like to read more from me, you can check out my published works on my website. Just google search Melissa Hosack.

Anyone wishing an autographed paperback, shoot me an email or private message. Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4 New Year's Eve

Sorry it's taken me so long to get this next section up. My husband, son, and I moved. Due to the Verizon strike, we were over two weeks without internet. I'm back though, and ready to update!

I would like to once again thank everyone for the positive feedback. I'm having a great time writing this story, and I'm glad it is being enjoyed. For those who asked, I plan to do at least two more parts: Valentine's Day and Easter. If anyone can think of another holiday I can work into the storyline, just give me a suggestion!

New Year's Eve

Sharing a bed with someone when you are friends can be fun and entertaining. I remember nights when Prim and I would stay up into the wee hours of the morning whispering and talking. My little sister would giggle as if I was the funniest person alive.

Sharing a bed with a boy you are trying to start a relationship with is a bit more awkward. There are accidental brushes and embarrassing reactions to those brushes. Yet there is that same chance of fun and excitement.

Only now, I'm the one who giggles. I don't think I do it so much for me as I do it for him. It's pleasurable to laugh, but I get more gratification out of seeing his face light up when I do so. I never thought I'd be the type to giggle, but Peeta makes me do things I'd never even considered before. Besides the giggling, there's the perfume.

The smell of perfume used to terrify me. After my first games, the scent always reminded me of women from the Capitol. They wore perfumes so thick and cloying, I used to fear I would choke on their fumes. Then there were Snow's roses. The smell of roses still sends a shiver of fear down my spine even though the man who used them as his trademark is long dead.

I started wearing perfume by accident. One afternoon I'd been out hunting for dinner when my braid got caught in a Camilla bush with bright red flowers. Some of the flowers had gotten tangled up in my hair. When I returned to Peeta's house, he'd commented on how nice I smelled.

At that time, I hadn't been thinking romantically about Peeta yet. I can't explain my actions, but after that day I started using the petals as perfume. Perhaps even then, my subconscious had yearned for his affection. I would rub them against my wrists and throat every morning. I even started plucking the petals to let them float in my bath at night.

The Camilla bush's flowers are long dead with winter, so I've been ordering them from a special indoor garden in the Capitol. The thought of becoming like one of those Capitol women frightens me, but I'm not buying their thick perfumes. I'm just buying flowers.

Besides, the small shivers I've seen Peeta give when I emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of steam with the scent of flowers on my bare shoulders makes going to the Capitol for something worth it in my eyes.

To go with the giggling and perfume, I recently bought a tube of sparkling pink lip gloss. I haven't been able to bring myself to use it, though. It sits in the top drawer of my dresser, hidden beneath my undergarments like a dirty secret. It just isn't me. The giggles are a product of Peeta's humor. The perfume was an accident. I can't justify the lip gloss. As much as I want to catch Peeta's attention, I can't bring myself to coat my lips with the lustrous substance. I'd feel silly.

While I'm caught up in thoughts of perfume, giggles, and lip gloss, a pillow hits me smack in the face. I jump in surprise, but Peeta's low laugh assures me that I'm not under attack by anything but him.

"You looked far too serious," he informs me. "What are you thinking about?"

Knowing the truth will baffle him, I confess, "I was thinking about lip gloss." Picking up the pillow that had fallen into my lap, I hit him with it in return. "It's a very serious subject that you've made me lose track of."

He snatches the pillow and returns it to its spot under his head. With furrowed brows, he asks, "Lip gloss?" His confusion is plain across his face as he continues, "Is that for hunting? To keep your lips from chapping?"

He's as lost to hunting as I am to baking, so I forgive him for his lack of knowledge. "No," I say with a playful glare. "It's for looking pretty. It's a girly thing."

Peeta's lips curve into a wickedly delighted grin. "Katniss Everdeen is going to start wearing lip gloss? Now I've heard everything."

I take my own pillow and whack him with it. "I could start being girly," I say in my defense. The fact that he responds with a laugh proves to me that lip gloss is just not something meant for me.

I lift my pillow to hit him again when Peeta grabs me suddenly around the waist and flips me underneath of him, pinning me to the mattress. He pushes the pillow aside to keep me from attacking him, and then lowers his lips to mine as soon as he's sure he won't be bludgeoned by anything. "You don't need to start being girly." He gives me another gentle kiss. "I like you just the way you are." He kisses me again, his lips a light brush as if he isn't certain his advances are welcome.

We'd only really kisses for the first time last week on Christmas Evening. We'd kissed a million times during our ruse as the Rebellion's star couple, but that didn't count. What counted were the kisses that came now, the soft kisses in the dark when I wake from a nightmare or the gentle kisses at breakfast over pancakes. We'd been taking this tentatively. Neither one of us were familiar with this type of relationship.

To reassure him, I wrap an arm around his neck and return the kiss. His mouth is soft and warm. I find myself sinking into the sensation.

One of Peeta's hands caresses along my hip, his fingertips running smoothly along my waist.

Instinctively, I arch up into that hand. My mouth opens to him as Peeta deepens the kiss. I can feel my heart hammering in my chest, and I'm sure he must be able to feel it against his own. So far, we've been quite tentative, and this is more than we've ever done before, but it feels nice.

Just as I'm deciding how much I'm enjoying the feel of his large hands on my waist, Peeta pulls back as if burnt. "I…I'm sorry." His breathing is ragged, and his eyes look slightly unfocused. "I didn't mean…" Before I can reassure him, Peeta slides from the bed. He makes his way to the bathroom door with shoulders hunched and his feet shuffling against the floor.

"Peeta…" I don't even know what to say. I can see in his eyes that he's conflicted. Peeta is the noblest man I've ever met. He hates the thought of doing anything he considers to be ungentlemanly. Despite this, his body's response to my proximity is testament to want he wants.

It's hard to reassure him when I'm not even sure what _I_ want. I want Peeta, I know that much, but don't want the same things he does out of life. Peeta wants marriage. He wants children. He wants things I'm not sure I can give him. It would probably be kinder for me to break things off with him now. It will only get harder to give him up the longer I wait. I know that if he's with someone else, he could have all those things he so desperately wants. He deserves those things. Peeta is too sweet for a girl like me anyway. After everything thing I've done, I don't deserve him.

I know in my heart I should end it, but I'm selfish. I do want Peeta, and the thought of him spending his nights with another woman, holding her in the darkness, makes my stomach turn. I can't offer him reassurance, so I give him the only thing I'm able to. As he pauses in the doorway when I call to him, I say, "When you get out of the shower, maybe we could head in to town to get supplies for tonight." I cringed and force the words I dread out of my mouth. "Have you invited Haymitch yet?"

Peeta has been eagerly looking forward to New Year's Eve. He claims it is a fabulous celebration of us surviving into the next year. Between the games and the war, the odds hadn't been in our favor.

I see it differently. I see it as a year with no Prim. My sister will not have lived at all in the upcoming year. She'll miss everything that happens, every moment. There will be no Gale in the coming year, nor my mother. There is nothing to look forward to. What is the point of life when everyone you care about is dead or gone?

As Peeta's face lights up at my comment, I realized that not _everyone_ has abandoned me. Peeta is still here. He still cares whether I live or die. Though celebrating the New Year will be like forcing a knife through my heart, I'll do it for him, because he's done so much for me.

"I thought you didn't want to celebrate New Year's Eve?" he asked. "What changed your mind?"

I shrug as I root through my dresser for something warm to wear. I don't want to discuss the upcoming evening or I might cry. It will be hard enough dealing with my demons alone. If Peeta realizes why I'm so tentative to celebrate tonight, it will only ruin his evening. "Are you going to get dressed to what?"

Peeta hesitates a moment, before nodding. "Yes. Let's go into town."

X X X

Peeta and I are walking away from Victor's Village when something unexpected happens. As I trudge along beside him through the heavy snow, Peeta reached out and grabs my hand. I turn to him in confusion, and he smiles. Then he pulls me in against his side, loops my arm through his, and tucks my hand into the warm pocket of his coat.

I'm so flabbergasted by the intimate move that I can't even speak, especially after all of my doubts this morning. I don't know what to say, so I instead turn my attention to the sight of District 12 as we approach the main square with all of its shops and festivities.

I'd avoided the newly bustling part of town during the Christmas season. To see the stores that had been built in what felt like a single evening was too much to handle. Things looked so much different, yet so much the same. Many of the old stores are popping up, looking exactly how they'd been before the bombing. Only now instead of grimy windows and weather-worn wood, everything seems to sparkle. The windows gleam; the paint is fresh. Everything looks so clean and tidy. It's as if we've swept the entire war under the rug. As long as no one goes to the meadow with its massive grave and lost civilians, the district is better as a result of the war.

The aching emptiness in my heart where Prim used to be is an attest that things are not as clean and wonderful as District 12 wishes it to be. My free hand tightens into a ball and I drag my feet until I force Peeta to stop walking. I can feel the tears building as I stare out into a district that no longer feels like home. It is unfamiliar to me. I've been so cooped up in Peeta's house that I've missed the rebuilding period.

Now that the fence that used to keep us trapped in 12 has been opened for citizens to leave at will, I can head to the woods right behind Peeta's house. There is no need to travel across town to sneak through weak spots in the fence. Because of this, I've missed so much.

I can see Peeta staring at me in concern, so I whimper out an explanation. "Life just kept moving forward without her." I don't know why I expected everything to stay at a standstill. Prim had only mattered to me. Life wasn't going to stop for a Seam girl no one even knew. _I_ was the famous one, not Prim, and these people probably wouldn't even mourn me. They hadn't even noticed that I'd been locked up since my return. They were too busy profiting off of the deaths of our loved ones.

Peeta turns to face me, taking my shoulders in his hands. "Katniss…"

"I need to get out of here," I inform him, trying to squirm out of his grasp. "I'm not ready."

His hands tighten on my shoulders, and he forces me to look up at him. "You are ready. You need to do this." Reaching a glove-covered hand up, he brushes hair away from my face that the wind had blown across my eyes. "I'm not the only one who worries about you, you know. People, they ask about you all the time." He smirks softly. "Especially Greasy Sae." He nods in the direction of town. "You know they've incorporated the Hobb into the main square? The things they sell are no longer illegal now that Snow's out of power. All of your old friends are making an honest living."

I look curiously toward the line of stores, unable to help myself. "Sae's Kitchen?" While I go out and hunt, Peeta bakes. Yet, I know there are days when he heads into town. I hadn't a clue what he did, but I suddenly realize I've been missing a lot by practically becoming a hermit.

Peeta nods in confirmation. "Yep, Sae's Kitchen is right on the main street. Don't you want to see it? I know she misses seeing you."

Despite my reluctance, his words ignite a curiosity inside me that I can't extinguish. "I wouldn't mind seeing Sae."

Peeta lowers his mouth over mine for a gentle kiss. "Good. Because there's something I want you to see." Taking my hand in his, he leads me down the main street of District 12.

With wide eyes, I take in all of the new buildings. Some of them have familiar names on the front doors, while others are new. It makes me smile to see a few people from the Hobb working legitimate businesses.

A small gasp escapes me as my eyes land on the center of town. The spot where the stocks had been, the place where Gale had been whipped until many had thought he might die, sat a beautiful fountain. No longer were there torture devices. It their places were stone benches and a little cobble pathway that surrounded the massive fountain.

I stop in my tracks and stare up at it in amazement. "It's beautiful." I see Peeta smile out of the corner of my eye.

"We'll come her in the summer," he whispers in promise as his breath fogs the air in front of us. "We'll sit by the fountain and just…enjoy life." He sounds so wistful, so eager for this simplicity.

I turn my head to gaze up at him. He is staring at the fountain, his eyes shimmering in the morning light. He looks so beautiful standing there in the snow. His blue eyes reflect the light while his blonde hair gives off a shine of its own. The large trees that outline the district rise tall behind him, their white caps looking peaceful and serene. It seems like a scene from a fairy tale.

When he turns to me with a smile, I am unable to keep from rising to my tiptoes and brushing my lips against his.

While snow falls almost magically around us, Peeta wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to him. He gently deepens the kiss, his cold lips exploring mine.

I press the front of my body to his for warmth, snuggling in against the front of his thick coat. My arms slide around his neck, the wool mittens covering my hands pressing against the back of his neck.

As I pull him down closer to me, Peeta lets out a soft noise of desire. I thrill at that quiet, almost imperceptible sound. I wish I could keep kissing him like this forever, wrapped in our own private world, but his nose brushes against mine. It's so cold that I laugh and have to turn my face away. "Your nose is like ice."

He laughs in response, his breath puffing the air around us. "We should get inside before we freeze to death."

"Inside?" I ask, unsure of where his first stop is.

He grins and takes my hand again. "I told you I had something I want to show you." He drags me across the street to the shop almost directly across from the fountain.

As I stare up at the large lettering on the front of the building, I inhale sharply. "Mellark's Bakery," I read in awe. I whirl on him with a look of amazement. "Peeta, you never said… When… How…" I shake my head with a little laugh. "It's amazing."

His chest puffs with pride. "I helped work on the blue prints." Removing a key from his pocket, he steps forward and slides it into the lock. Holding the door open for me to enter, he says, "We officially open next week."

I hurry inside. I want to get out of the cold, but I also want to examine every inch of Peeta's bakery.

The walls are a pale oak with a few tables scattered about the main area to match. The counter is a long stretch of marble that is so new, it shines. Right at the door is a large, glass display case. I press my hands to it and stare in. For now, it is empty, but I can picture it full of cookies and cakes. I can see Peeta behind that marble counter with flour decorating his clothing.

Overcome with excitement, I move around the counter, something I had never even dreamed of doing when the Peeta's parents owned the shop. I take in all of the shelves and boxes meant to hold treats. Moving with a flurry, I peer into the back room to see the large oven. It is as new as the rest of the place, sparkling and waiting to be used. Once I've explored every inch of the place a dozen times, I race back over to Peeta. In a moment of spontaneity, I leap up into his arms.

He stumbled backwards a few steps as I wrap my legs around his waist and hold on tightly. This is something we'd done for the Capitol and their cameras before but never without expectant eyes waiting for us to prove our affection.

"This place is…" I lower my mouth to his for a passionate kiss. "It's amazing." I kiss him again. This time he is steady enough to return the kiss with a chuckle. "I am so unbelievably happy for you."

As I continue to kiss him, Peeta sits me down on the counter, but he doesn't pull back. He continues to kiss me.

I keep my legs wrapped tightly around his hips, not wanting to let him get away. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He laughs into my mouth before pulling away slightly to answer. "I honestly didn't think you'd care." He shrugged. "Once it was finished, I was so excited; I just had to show it to you anyway."

"Of course I care! This place is fantastic." I lean forward and kiss his cheek. "I know how much you missed the bakery. You wanted this more than anything in the world."

Peeta glances down at his hand as it runs along the outside of my thigh. "As great as the bakery is, the only thing I need in my life is you." His gaze returning to mine, he flushes with embarrassment. "I don't want anything more than that."

I peer into the blue depths of his eyes and feel my heart melt just as much as the room is melting the snow on my boots. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him toward me for a kiss.

I let my mouth move slowly against his. Keeping him distracted with my lips, I let one hand stay on the back of his neck while the other slides down to his chest. After a little bit of fumbling due to my mittens, I close my fingers around the zipper to his coat and slide it down.

As the fabric parts, I slip my hands inside, running it over the shirt underneath the bulky coat. My eyes close and I offer a soft moan as Peeta's tongue flicks out to tentatively touch my lower lip. "It's okay," I encourage, deepening the kiss.

His tongue flicks out again, shooting an arrow of desire straight through me. This arrow feels much more effective than any I've ever shot. I whimper as I busy my hand with his shirt. I manage to yank it free of his pants with a few hard tugs. Knowing I won't get the skin on skin contact I want with the stupid mittens on, I lower my other hand to assist the first. I rip the mittens off and toss them down. As they tumble to the floor, I slide both hands up his shirt.

Peeta hisses at the cold sensation, but his kisses become more desperate.

I let my fingers explore the muscles of his stomach for a moment before I lower them to his belt. I'm slipping the soft leather through the metal buckle when his hands close over mine. I look up in surprise when he pulls back.

"No," he says softly.

We stare at each other for a moment in silence. I'm not sure whether I want to cry or scream at him. The rest of the world thinks we've done far more than this, but Peeta is still worried about my damn reputation. "I don't care what they think," I say harshly.

"I do."

I let out a frustrated sigh as he steps away from me and begins tucking his shirt back in. I know there is no arguing with him, though. Instead, I ask, "Which store would you like to visit first?" I'll play Peeta's game of domestication as long as he wants to. I owe him at least that. I owe him my life, my sanity. If Peeta asked me to go to my grave a virgin, I'd give him that as well.

X X X

We're waiting to pay for our basket full of items when a loud crash turns our attention to the man stumbling toward the counter. I'm not surprised to see that the noise has come from Haymitch. I _am_ surprised that he appears to be completely sober. The stumbling is caused by the armfuls of products he carries. He's muttering in annoyance under his breath as he stomps to the counter. He's standing behind us a moment before our presence finally sinks in. "You two," he grumbled in greeting.

I don't expect much more from Haymitch. His social skills have always been lacking.

"Are you coming over tonight?" Peeta asked hopefully.

Haymitch levels him with a look of annoyance. "I told you once, boy. I'm not one for celebrating any more than she is," he says with a nod to me.

Though I'm not looking forward to the festivities any more than Haymitch, I offer him a cheeky smile. "I don't know what you mean. I'm very excited for this evening."

He glares at me, seeing through my lie. "Thanks for the help." His piercing gaze sweeps back to Peeta. "I am not going to your house to celebrate something as pointless as the New Year, and that's final."

Peeta's frown lasts only a second before there is a soft squeal of pleasure from behind him.

"Oh, Haymitch," Effie gushed as she joined us. "A party sounds delightful. We should go." She offers Peeta and I a bright smile before adding a large, brass candleholder to the pile of items in Haymitch's arms. "This will look lovely over your fireplace."

Haymitch narrowed his eyes at me as a giggle escaped my throat at the sight of him towing behind Effie in a store. Even _I_ might have needed a drink to go shopping with Effie. "_We_ have no need to go to a silly dinner party with these two," Haymitch informs her.

Ignoring our mentor's slight, Peeta smiles at them both. "Effie," he greets warmly. To my disbelief, he stepps forward and wraps her in a hug. "It's good to see you."

It amazes me that after Effie's association with the Capitol and those horrible games, Peeta can so easily forgive and forget. I know that Haymitch worked hard to convince District 13 that Effie had been a prisoner of war, that she hadn't been on the Capitol's side, but Effie as a rebel had never rang true for me. I couldn't understand why Haymitch had put so much effort into ensuring her release.

Before I can stop her, Effie turns and wraps me into a hug as well. "Oh, Katniss," she gushes. "You look wonderful." After a pause, she adds, "Though your hair could use a bit of a touch up." She gives her girly, tinkling laugh. "Being in seclusion is no reason to let yourself go, dear." She reaches out to pat Peeta on the cheek. "You want to keep this one's attention after all." While Peeta flinched, she asks, "When's the wedding?"

I choke on the air in my lungs. While Haymitch pats me on the back with a low chuckle, I glare daggers at Effie. "Wedding? There is no wedding."

Peeta laughs nervously at her comment and runs a hand over the back of his neck. "No wedding," he assures.

At our obvious discomfort, Haymitch rolls his eyes with a sigh. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you, Effie, the whole romance thing was a sham." He eyes me for a moment before adding, "This one would have breathed a sigh of relief if he'd died during the war. Would have made her life a whole lot easier."

I feel outrage bubble up inside of me at his callous comment. The war had been confusing, and Peeta's high jacked mind had been just one more complication to add to things, but I in no way had wished him dead. "That is not true!"

Peeta's hand is on my shoulder, trying to keep me from getting upset at Haymitch's cruel remark. "It's okay, Katniss."

I brush him off in annoyance. "No, it's not okay. I didn't want you-"

Effie cuts me off. "See? There is no way to fake that kind of passion. The darling girl loves him." She's suddenly grabbing me by the cheeks and squishing my face. I'm sure she thinks it's an affectionate gesture, but to me it just hurts. "You will be a beautiful bride. I know Cinna is dead, but you must let your old team come back and work on you once you set a date. Flavius will be beside himself to work on the Mocking Jay again."

"I'm not an art project," I grump.

"Of course not, dear," she bubbles before turning to Peeta. "And you!" She presses on his cheeks much like she'd done mine. "What a handsome young man you've become. You can hardly notice the burn marks anymore." She turns his face to the side so she can examine the damage left behind by the bombs that killed my sister.

I feel anger well up inside of me. Peeta and I have gone through so much together. Our scars are personal. People who haven't lived through what we were forced to survive have no right to touch or examine our wounds. We don't want to be on display for the sick fascination of others.

I'm so angry that Effie's next comment catches me by surprise and nearly causes my knees to buckle in horror. "What beautiful babies the two of you will make," she trills in delight.

Peeta gently extracts his face from her grasp. "No babies in the near future, I'm afraid. We just want to enjoy life for a little bit."

Effie nods her head in agreement. "I totally understand. I sit in Haymitch's living room and laugh at the way you two have been holed up in there as if you're on a six month honeymoon. It's romantic."

Before I can argue that she's got the wrong impression about us, Effie sweeps forward and pulls Peeta into a parting hug. "We'll be at your house for dinner tonight." She releases Peeta and pulls me into a hug before I can avoid her. Then she's bustling out of the store. "Haymitch, I'll be next door looking at throw rugs."

Our mentor cringes.

At his reaction, I can't help but ask, "How did the two of you become…whatever it is you've become. I just don't see it. You and her. Effie and you." I shiver.

"She showed up one day to reminisce and never left." His eyes followed the chipper woman as she swishes out into the snow. "I don't think she has anywhere else to go." Looking down at the items in his hands, he frowns. "My house is paying for it, too. I'm finding myself bombarded with tea cups and doilies and scented candles." His eyes narrow. "And apparently throw rugs."

The mental image of Haymitch keeping a clean house while scented candles burned cheerfully from the living room end table is enough to make my head spin. I'd thought Haymitch and Effie hated each other. They'd bickered non-stop during our first games. The tension level when they were in a room together was impossible to ignore. How they had gotten to this domestic partnership was beyond me. I suppose the Games put pressure on everyone, not just the entrants. though we were the only ones who died as a result.

"She's good for you," Peeta comments to Haymitch.

Our mentor rolls his eyes. "Yeah. Whatever." His expression turns hopeful. "Just make sure you pick up some alcohol for this party. That's the only way I'm showing."

"I promise," I assure him as Peeta steps up to pay for our few items. With a quick farewell to Haymitch, we start back out into the snow. I'm just angling toward the building marked as a wines and spirits store when Peeta looks at me with confusion.

"Where are you going?"

With arched brows, I point to the store. "To get our alcohol."

"I didn't think you were serious," Peeta says with a frown. "I thought that was just a lie to get Haymitch to show."

"I just assumed we were picking some up regardless. You're all about tradition," I explain. "Isn't having a drink on New Year's Eve while you count down until the coming year a tradition?"

"I just figured we'd stick to the tradition of kissing someone at midnight."

"Now, now," I chastise. "You are the one forcing these traditions on all of us. You can't pick and choose which ones suit you."

I'm heading for the store when he grabs my arm. "I don't think you need to drink. Haymitch either."

My eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, and I can't keep the annoyance out of my voice. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Remember the last time you got drunk?" he asks accusingly. "Not your proudest moment. Besides, I don't drink."

Angrily, I yank my arm from his grasp. "This time my entire world isn't coming to an end. Excuse me for having a moment of weakness when I realized I was about to die."

He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. "You're right." His voice is soft and placating. "This situation is completely different. I'm sorry." He puts a hand to my back and guides me toward the liquor store. "Let's get something for tonight."

"You'll have a drink then?" I ask.

"I'll have a drink."

X X X

Peeta has more than just a drink. He moves on to two, then three, then four. I don't care because I'm drinking right with him. This is what I needed. I needed something to dull the pain of the coming year, of the loneliness it will entail. I need something to push back the memories of my dead sister.

I think Peeta needed the same thing too, only he didn't realize it. He'as been acting so thrilled for the New Year, but I think it's finally hit him how much he's lost in this one.

"For New Year's Eve this one year," he slurrs with affection, "my father baked these cookies that were made to look like clocks. The hands on the cookies were different for each hour. From dinner on, every hour, we got to eat one of the cookies until midnight. My brothers and I had never been allowed to eat so much from the bakery. My mother would have thrown a fit, but she was off visiting her sister for the evening." He lets out a sigh, his gaze going distant. "My father was a great man." As soon as these words are out of his mouth, Peeta tenses. His eyes widen and an almost frighten expression flashes across his face.

I see the pain and loss the instant it hits him that he'll never again see his father. Tears sting at my eyes as I realize Peeta hasn't fully dealt with the loss he's suffered. He's been hiding behind his positive attitude…and me. He's hidden away his pain because of mine. It's finally starting to sink in, and there's nowhere for him to escape from the harsh truths that neither of us wishes to believe.

Silently, I reach out and take his hand.

Peeta grips it tightly as his eyes brim with unshed tears. "They're really gone," he whispers softly.

I nod as my own tears spill onto my cheek. All of them are gone. Peeta's caring father, his older brothers. Prim. Gale. My mother. These people have all left us. All Peeta and I have are each other and the drunken mentor who was currently passed out the couch. There's Effie if one can count her at all, but we're not close with her, and there's no guarantee she'll stick around either. Though with the way she'd giggled and stumbled to one of the living room chairs to pass out shortly after the alcohol was brought out, I'm not sure she's tough enough to last with our group anyway. Only time will tell.

"I'm so sorry, Peeta," I whisper. We're standing in his kitchen, watching the small clock as it ticks away the minutes until a new year begins. It's so close that each tick of the clock's hand feels like a knife in my heart. I don't want to let go of this year. I don't want to let go of Prim.

I'm not usually the openly affection one of the two of us, but I reach up and cup Peeta's face in the palm of my hand. "Your father was a kind man. What happened to him was inexcusable. It's the reason we fought. Just remember that."

Peeta nods, turning his face into my hand. "It hurts," he says under his breath. "Every day it hurts. You think it gets better. Then you see something that reminds you of them, and it tears the hole in your heart wide open again. I don't think I'll ever be free of this pain." A tear slips past his eyelashes and slides a path down his cheek. "I just keep thinking that if I had been stronger, maybe I could have helped them."

My eyes widen at this. "Peeta, you were a prisoner of war. You were tortured. You can't blame yourself for what happened while you were unable to do anything."

"When I came back," he says shakily, "you were the only person I had left. You were all I had, and I tried to kill you. What kind of monster does that make me?"

I'm relieved he no longer uses the word mutt to refer to himself, but his anger is misguided. He'd had no control over himself those first months after escaping the grasp of the Capitol. "You aren't a monster," I assure him. My other hand lifts to his cheek, and I cup his face in my hands. "You came through the unspeakable tortures done to you. You fought back and regained yourself. You aren't weak. You're strong." I feel my heart hitch as I say," You're the strongest man I know."

The silence that falls after my words is thick and filled with heat. His blue eyes stare into mine, their depths shimmering with tears. On the wall behind him, the clock chimes midnight. A new year. Peeta leans forward and kisses me.

The kiss is desperate. It is full of longing and need. Peeta has kept everything bottled up until this night. He needs an outlet to his pain, and I am more than willing to be that for him.

I return his kiss with just as much passion. It's not just Peeta who needs to escape from his demons. I want to forget. I want to forget that I'll never see Prim again. I need something else to fill my life besides pain.

Peeta's mouth is so rough against mine that I feel his teeth scrape my lip. Instinctively, I open my mouth to him, let him explore kissing in a way we've never really dared before. His breath is coming out in pants as his tongue delves into my mouth, caressing mine.

His arms wrap around my waist and suddenly he's pressing me against the fridge. His body is large and hard, cocooning mine. I've never felt delicate before in my life, but with Peeta's body dominating mine, I feel like a girl. I feel exactly like what I am, a nervous virgin.

The alcohol has ripped away all of Peeta's inhibitions and uncertainties. His timid, boyish nature is gone. Before me is a man, a man who knows exactly what he wants. "I need this," he whispers into my mouth.

"I know," I managed to reply. My arms slip around him, and I run my hands up the muscled shoulders he hides under dress shirts. His skin feels flushed even through the cotton fabric of his shirt. I'm unsure if it is a result of the alcohol or his sudden desire.

"I want to envelope myself in you," he breathes as one of his hands slides up my shirt.

A gasp escapes me as he boldly cups one of my breasts. This is so very unlike my Peeta, but I can't say I dislike it. I'm surprised by the soft sound that passes my lips as I arch up against his hand. "Peeta…" I pause to kiss him again, reveling in the feel of his smooth skin against the thin silk of my bra. "Not here." I manage to break our kiss and glance in the direction of the living room. "Not with Haymitch and Effie so close."

Peeta nods, and in the next instant, he is lifting me off my feet.

As he hoists me off the ground, I wrap my legs around his waist with a little yelp of surprise.

Peeta smirks smugly, and then begins carrying me up the stairs to his bedroom. His artificial leg is no hindrance as he moves steadily toward his destination. He manages to kick the door open and lock it behind us seemingly without any trouble.

I give a soft cry of surprise as he lowers me swiftly to the bed. My head hits the pillows an instant before his mouth is claiming mine again. As I shift underneath of him to get more comfortable, Peeta gives a low moan of eagerness.

He lowers himself to my body, and I instantly feel the erection that stretches against the front of his pants. I can't say I'm shocked at its existence, but I am caught off guard when Peeta presses it down into me. He's been so shy up until this point. If he even got slightly aroused in the past, he would retreat in embarrassment. Now, he's grinding himself against the center of my body with a groan.

Breathlessly, I arched up against him, eagerly accepting his advances. Months ago, I'd come to realize that he is the only person who is able to fill the loneliness in my heart. He'd been holding back, though. To have him so unreserved has my body burning for more.

My hands tug at his shirt, and this time he lets me explore the smooth expanse of his chest without complaint. It seems to only urge him on and make his kisses more intense.

When it seems my hands on his chest aren't enough, Peeta grabs one of my hands. He lowers it to the bulge in his pants and lets it rest there. "This is what you do to me," he says, sounding almost pained. "I try so hard to resist it, to act how a gentleman is supposed to, but my body fights me. It wants you so badly." His kisses me long and hard. "I want you."

The feeling of him hard in my palm sends a shiver through my body. Ever so gently, I run my palm along the length of him, feeling him through his pants. "I want you, too," I whisper back breathily.

Peeta groans in delight at my words, his mouth claiming mine again. His hips jut forward, and he rubs himself against my palm. "You have no idea how badly I need you," he moans against my lips.

While my hand tentatively caresses him, Peeta's fingers set to work at unbuttoning my shirt. He gets it opened in an impressively short amount of time, and then his hands are caressing my bare stomach, running along the curves of my breasts.

I've never been this exposed in front of a man before, so I squirm anxiously. I know there is no way I can live up to the standards of what an attractive woman should look like. I'm scarred in multiple places, including a long angry slash that covers the lower left portion of my ribs. I'm not the delicate, flowery image a woman is supposed to be.

As if sensing my unease, Peeta looks up from my chest, where his eyes have been glued, to my face. "Don't," he says simply. "You are more beautiful to me than any other woman could ever be."

His eyes hold such honesty that I can't dispute him. I understand his reasoning, because to me, he is the most amazing man in the world. I wouldn't care if he was covered in thousands of scars. I don't care that he's missing a leg. He's Peeta, and that makes him flawless.

My eyes squeeze tightly shut as he deftly unhooks my bra and slides his fingers along the bare flesh of my breasts. His hands are gentle yet eager as he explores territory so foreign to both of us. I gasp as his thumb strokes one of my nipples, heat pooling in my belly at his touch.

"So beautiful," he murmurs as he lowers his mouth to my neck.

I tilt my head back, giving him better access. I've never felt anything as exhilarating as this. I make small sounds of encouragement, urging him on as he caresses and kisses me. I'm just thinking how extraordinary it would be if he were to put his mouth and soft kisses on my breasts, when his head suddenly drops to my shoulder.

My eyes widen in surprise and I lift up on my elbows enough to stare at the top of his blond head.

Peeta is passed out, his breath coming heavy in his sleep against my bare shoulder. He's finally lost the battle he's been raging all night with the liquor in his system.

With a small noise of disbelief, I let my head drop back to the pillows. I know this is probably for the best. If we were to have sex while he was in a drunken state, Peeta would never forgive himself. I know I must be patient and let him do things in his own time, but the erection pressed against my palm is nearly taunting me. I let out a weary sigh and close my eyes, trying to will my body to calm down. "Damn it."

X X X

The sound of a pained groan pulls me from sleep. Peeta is on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, looking miserable. "Why did I let you convince me that was a good idea?" he asks when he realizes I'm stirring.

My mouth feels thick as cotton and it hits me suddenly that we're both hung over. "I told you to have _a_ drink, not four," I remind him.

"How does Haymitch survive this every day?" Peeta asks, practically whimpering. "I'd rather die."

I grunt in response. After a few minutes of silence, I see him glance at me out of the corner of my eye, and I know what's coming even before he starts.

"I'm sorry, Katniss." His voice is deep and thick with emotion. "I never meant for last night… What happened…" He shakes his head. "I behaved like a real jerk."

I sigh at his apology, letting my frustration show in that one sound. "Peeta." I climb to my knees in front of him and grab his shoulders. Giving them a little shake, I say, "I want to have sex with you."

That hangs in the air for a moment while both of us process its meaning. While I'm nervous about my bold statement, I've never been surer of anything in my life. Last night has made me see that I'm tired of living in the past. I'm tired of being a shadow of myself, unable to live because I'm too busy mourning ghosts.

"Katniss, I…"

I place my finger over his lips. "You're not ready," I finish for him. "You want it to be perfect, not some drunken blunder." Leaning forward, I press a kiss gently to his lips. "When the time is right, I'll be waiting."

He nods, looking down at his hands.

I know our near sex encounter isn't the only thing that's bothering him. Taking his hands in mine, I look into those lovely blue eyes and offer him a sad smile. "It will get easier, you know?" I see the surprise, as if he didn't expect me to remember the pain he'd showed me the night before. "It will," I promise.

He swallows thickly as tears return to his eyes. "I know," he said hoarsely.

"Your father was a wonderful man, and nothing can replace the memory of him." I realize now that I'm speaking to myself as well as Peeta. I'm not just speaking of his father, I'm speaking of Prim. "Those memories will always be with you, but we've got to start making new ones."

I feel my own tears as they tumble down my cheeks so unexpectedly. "Recently, everything has been bad. I know it feels like we have nothing good left sometimes. Well, we need to start making good memories, Peeta. Both of us. Together. They aren't going to create themselves, and we'll never be able to move on if we don't start trying to be happy. We'll never forget them, but we've got to start living our own lives."

To my surprise, the boy with the bread buries his face in my shoulder and sobs. I hold him, letting him release all the pain he's held in these long months. It's my turn to be there for him, to hold him while memories take over and leave a ragged hole in the soul.

"I miss them so much," he cries against me. "So, so much." His shoulders heave with the force of his tears. Minutes pass while he rids himself of tears that have long needed shed. Finally, he straightens and stares at me through eyes solemn in their suffering. "You're right, though."

He pulls me into a hug, letting his chin rest on the top of my head. "We are going to make new memories. Better ones. Just the two of us. Together." His next words, breathed into my hair, take me completely by surprise, knocking the breath from my lungs. "I love you, Katniss."

As mentioned previously, if you like my work, check out my print books at Barnes and Noble or Amazon under Melissa Hosack. If you would like assigned copy, just let me know and I will get one to you.

Here is an excerpt from Hunter, which was released last December:

**Prologue**

**Gwendolyn Fox was in the most vicious battle of her life…okay, 'most vicious battle of her life' might be a bit of an exaggeration, but she was definitely in the most vicious battle of her week. **

**Most people, when coming face to face with a really pissed off vampire, quickly surrendered with their tail tucked between their legs. Not werewolves though. Of course, one of the only groups in town to actually _have_ tails didn't tuck them and run. Instead, they growled and slobbered…and gave you a right hook to the jaw when you approached.**

**As the burly, hairy half-man took another swing at her, Gwen was barely able to duck underneath his massive arm. "Don't you think this is a bit extreme?" she asked as she made sure to avoid the dangerous claws at the end of his no longer human hands. "I just want to talk."**

**His response was a ferocious growl. Spittle flew from between his maw, dribbling along a set of sharp teeth. His breath was fetid, his teeth covered in plaque. He was disgusting in every sense of the word.**

"**Now I know you guys can talk while in wolf form," Gwen wheedled. "It may sound like you've been gargling glass, but at least it's an attempt at being domesticated. How about we talk this out?" She knew her insult on his speaking abilities would only piss him off more, but she wasn't really looking for a conversation. She was just trying to keep him distracted while she looked for an opening.**

**This was her job, protecting members lower on the supernatural food chain from those bigger and badder than themselves. As jobs went, it was pretty grueling. There wasn't even any hazard pay. Hell, sometimes she was lucky to get paid at all. It worked for her though. Being a vampire, a 9 to 5 job wasn't really in the cards. Plus, she'd get bored behind an office desk.**

**Not only was her job a pain in the ass, it was a pretty thankless one as well. No one really knew how many threats she kept out of the general population. "Ungrateful people. I put myself in danger for you guys, and do I even get a 'thank you'? Of course not," she whispered to herself as the werewolf let out another roar of rage. Apparently, she'd interrupted his dinner.**

**His 'dinner', a four-year-old blond girl with pigtails, was cowering in the corner. Her blue eyes were wide, and her gaze flitted back and forth between Gwen and the werewolf.**

**When the little girl gave a squeak of fear, the werewolf became distracted. He hesitated, his eyes flicking toward her. Next, his massive head whipped in the girl's direction, and his nostrils flared. He gave a snort, his yellow eyes perusing the girl as if she were a menu.**

**This gave Gwen an opening. Moving quickly, she lifted a booted foot and kicked the werewolf in the chest. **

**He stumbled back, trying to regain his footing, not an easy feat when you're no more than a dog standing upright.**

"**Hey, Hans," Gwen said conversationally as she spun, kicking him once again in the chest, "does Mario know you're chowing down on little kids?"**

**Mario Cessarini was the leader of the local werewolf pack. He was a notorious thug who took pleasure in terrorizing anyone weaker than himself. Hell, he even victimized the lower members in his pack whenever he grew bored of the rest of the world. Mario was all about torture and misery.**

"**Of course he knows," Gwen answered her own question in disgust. "He's probably encouraging you." She gave the werewolf a third kick to the ribs. With satisfaction, she heard a few break as he finally fell to the ground.**

"**Hans," she said, repeating his name to ensure he knew there was no way for him to remain anonymous, "have you not read the story of _Little Red Riding Hood_? I suppose not. Mario's muscle men aren't known for being bright. You would need to learn how to read first," she taunted.**

**The snarl he gave her in response shook the walls of the run down shack he called home.**

"**Let me fill you in on how the story ends." She attempted to circle around him, each step taken with extreme caution. "A bunch of hunters get together and shoot the big bad wolf. Boom! He dies. Roll end credits."**

**At this moment, when she was trying her best to keep Hans distracted, the exact opposite happened. Her cell phone trilled loudly, completely throwing _her _off. She glanced down at the noisy electronic device where it sat attached snugly against her hip. The call was from Colton, her best friend and partner. He wouldn't be calling if it weren't an emergency. That didn't make his timing any less horrible. Angrily jabbing the button that would put him on speaker phone, she snapped, "What?"**

**This lack of focus seemed to anger Hans even more. With an enraged howl, he charged. He ran across the floor in a grotesque imitation of a canine. His clawed hands scraped across the tiling, and he made the snorting sound of a large, wild beast.**

**Before Gwen could react, he tackled her. They both went down in a tangled mess. She felt coarse fur scratch across her face and saliva drip down her arm. She shoved her elbow out, connecting with his jaw, stopping him a moment before his deadly incisors dug into her shoulder. **

"**Bitch," Hans snarled, his teeth gnashing at the air in an attempt to injure her in any way he could. "Kill…you…" he grunted, his voice sounding like something out of a nightmare.**

**Colton's voice interjected itself into their struggle. "Is everything okay there?" he asked in concern. "You sound…" He trailed off, apparently at a lack of words to describe the noises emitting from her end of the line.**

"**Like I'm in the middle of a brutal fist fight? Imagine that, because I am." Her knee shot upward, and Gwen was pretty sure she connected with the werewolf's groin.**

**When Hans grunted and released her, Gwen knew she'd been right. He rolled away, wheezing in agony and cradling his man parts.**

"**I should call back later." Colton's voice could barely be heard over the grunting werewolf. "This is a bad time."**

"**No," Gwen gasped breathlessly as she struggled to her knees. "This is the perfect time. Not busy at all." She tried to get to her feet, but her boot slipped on the floor. She stumbled, but luckily caught herself on her hands. Taking a deep, calming breath, she lunged to her feet. **

"**Talk to me. What's so important that you felt the need to call me in the middle of a fight?" She knew there was no way Colton could have known she'd be in a fight at this exact moment, but she gave the snarky comment for the fun of it. As she spoke, she managed to get behind Hans. Before he could stop her, Gwen grabbed the werewolf's head in the crook of her arm.**

**Hans' eyes widened in horror when he realized what she was about to do. He didn't have time to even attempt to protect himself before she yanked viciously. Bones snapped, and muscles tore.**

**Breathing heavily, Gwen dropped Hans' body to the ground at her feet. "Case closed," she panted. "Just tell me what's going on already."**

"**Alright then," Colton said briskly. "I've got some really bad news."**

"**Always," Gwen accused, wiping sweat away from her brow. "Hit me with it."**

"**Jared Wilson's daughter has been kidnapped. The local werewolf pack found out he was slipping us information, and they took offense."**

**If her heart beat, Gwen's would have stopped at that statement. "What?" she gasped in fear. "When?" Her life was always one threat after another, but she didn't like it rubbing off on the few friends she had.**

"**Just a few hours ago. Jared called me right away." Colton paused, and Gwen could practically hear the gears turning in his head. "One of the cases you're working on involves one of the werewolves from the pack involved. If you can find Hans, we can perhaps question him."**

**Gwen looked down at the body at her feet in disbelief. Of all the rotten timing… "Um," she started, not wanting to admit she'd just killed the man they needed to help them.**

"**You just killed him, didn't you?" Colton asked dully. **

"**Yep," she came back, her voice full of irony.**

"**Wonderful," he grumbled. "Did you at least save the little elf girl?"**

**Gwen glanced at the tiny girl quivering in the corner. "Yeah. At least one good thing came from all of this." With a sigh, she shook her head at their luck. "I'll take her home and meet back up with you at the apartment building. We'll figure something out."**

"**I'll work on things from my end," Colton promised. "See you in a few."**

"**See you," Gwen said almost numbly as she disconnected. Her gaze lowered to the dead werewolf. "Son of a bitch," she grumbled. She let her head fall back, her hair cascading behind her as she fought not to lose her temper. Even in death, Hans had bested her. Letting her breath out in a huff, she straightened and looked at the little elf girl. "Ready to go home?"**

**Instead of joy and gratitude, the girl glared at her. "You killed him. You're a very bad woman." Indignantly, the girl marched out of the room.**

**Gwen's jaw dropped, and she stared after the pigtailed child. "He was going to eat you!" she hollered at the pink-clad, retreating child. "You were his dinner!" When it became apparent that the girl wasn't listening, Gwen sighed again. "I hate elves," she snarled before following after the four-year-old spitfire. **

Real Elves Don't Make Cookies

If there is one thing Gwendolyn Fox hates more than sunlight and stakes, it's elves. There's a good reason why vampires and elves avoid one another, and it's because they don't mix well.

Gwen is a vampire who knows how to take care of herself. She's fought werewolves, witches, and other supernatural creatures all for the sake of protecting those weaker than her. She has nothing in common with the stereotypical blond, fragile, and earth loving elves. That is until an innocent child gets kidnapped, and the only man who can help Gwen save her is none other than Hunter Price.

Hunter is an elf, but like none she's ever met. Rugged and mischievous, Hunter sparks an immediate reaction in Gwen that she struggles to resist. Try as she might to keep her concentration on the missing girl, Gwen falls victim to Hunter's devilish charm and seductive nature. He's tall, dark, and dangerous. He's everything she never expected of an elf and everything she's attracted to in a man.

An expert on breaking and entering, Hunter has the means to get Gwen into the facility where the child is being held. During their encounters with otherworldly villains, the magnetism between them becomes too much to be ignored.

Despite her instant attraction, Gwen is determined to keep things between herself and Hunter completely professional. Hunter, on the other hand, is determined to seduce his stubborn and guarded vampire partner. Together, they'll strive to rescue the imprisoned girl and save the local supernatural community from a vicious werewolf pack.

To rescue the little girl, Gwen needs to stop Hunter from distracting her. She must cool her sizzling partner or let herself be consumed by the flames.


	5. Chapter 5 Valentine's Day

Sorry it has taken me so long to update. I had a few crazy writing deadlines I was working on that kept me hung up. I've had this half written for a month. Hopefully this was worth waiting for!

Valentine's Day

Today started like any other day. I got up early to head into the woods to hunt. Peeta stayed home to bake. We spent our mornings alone. I didn't have a care in the world as I took aim at squirrels, but Peeta was busy. I realize this as I step into the kitchen to find him hard at work. He's covered in flour, puffs of it sticking to his blond hair. The front of his apron is covered in some type of gravy, and I can smell a turkey baking in the oven.

The sight of him so wrapped up in his work makes me drop my game bag to the floor and cross the room to him. I'm still getting used to this relationship thing, but it's easy for me to wrap my arms around his waist. "Something about a man in an apron is too adorable," I inform him as I stand on tiptoes to give him a kiss.

Peeta lets go of the Wisk in his hand and presses his palms to my cheeks as he returns my affection.

I can feel the flour as it sticks to my face, but I don't really care. I'll take every one of Peeta's messy, flour-covered kisses, because I know it's something I came very close to losing. When he pulls back with a bashful chuckle, I ask, "What's the occasion?"

Usually Peeta spends his mornings baking things for his newly opened bakery. One quick look around tells me this isn't a bakery day. Peeta's spent his morning baking for us.

Peeta's boyish grin lets me know that I've forgotten whatever marks today as important. "It's Valentine's Day," he explains. "I plan to spend the rest of the day spoiling you with affection. The bakery can survive one day without me."

The bakery has been getting so much business recently that Peeta has actually employed two local teens to help him run the place. Though not even five years their elder, I can't help feeling as if there are generations between us.

They are around the same age Prim would have been. They'd only been entered into the pool for the Games once if at all. They'd been safe in District 13 for most of the war. I never was, nor will I ever be as carefree as Peeta's employees. The girl is an adorable blonde whose hair always looked freshly washed and whose clothes never appear wrinkled let alone tattered. The boy is a dark haired youth with sparkling blue eyes. His breath is always fresh and minty, his hands always clean. It's obvious that the two of them have not experienced the suffering that used to be the lives of every child in District 12. The two of them playfully bicker all day, enjoying each other and Peeta's company.

I know it's wrong, but I feel jealous of them. Peeta relaxes with them in a way he can never do around me. I'll never be that carefree, so as a result, he can't be either. I want to see the boyish smile that erases years from Peeta's face when he looks at me, but I will always be a reminder of the pain. So I silently envy them, an ironic thing as that is the girl's name, Envie.

"What's wrong?" Peeta asks, breaking into my thoughts.

I looked up into his blue eyes, thinking that I've never been able to hide my thoughts from him. I could fool anyone with a fake, sunny smile but Peeta Mellark. "It's just that I've gone and forgotten another one of your holidays," I tell him, concentrating on one aspect of why I'm gloomy. "I've got to be the worst girlfriend in the entire world."

While I frown at the truth of my statement, Peeta pulls me toward him until I am leaning against his chest. "You aren't a terrible girlfriend. You're just…Katniss." Lowering his head, he presses a kiss to my forehead. "I like you just the way you are, so don't even think about going girly and mushy on me."

"But-"

He silences me with a soft kiss. "Don't." He grins down at me with the crooked smile that always turns me to mush. "There's only one thing I want from you today," he informs me. "One gift. But it's a big one."

"What's that?" I ask reluctantly. It's not often Peeta asks something of me, so I'm instantly on edge.

His mouth lowers to my ear, and he whispers softly into my hair, "Be my valentine?"

A laugh of amusement bubbles from my throat, and I hug his waist tightly. "Of course." I press my cheek against his chest, reveling in the feel of his solid form beneath me as I listen to his steady heartbeat. "Aren't I your valentine every day?"

"Every day," he assures. "Sometimes I just need to hear it to believe I've actually gotten this lucky."

"I'm your valentine," I promise, meaning it with everything in me. "Today and every day." I smile as his arms tighten around me, holding me to him.

"That's good to know," he says softly against my ear. Pulling back, he brushes a clump of icy, wet hair away from my face. "Now go get dressed in something dry and join me for dinner."

I'd eaten lunch out in the woods while I caught meat for the next few meals, but the mention of food has my stomach rumbling. A cold strip of meat and a carrot stick had done nothing to curb my hunger. "I'll be right back," I promise.

I make my way quickly up the stairs to our bedroom and am halfway into a pair of pants before I freeze. My eyes go to our closet, and I slowly step out of the pants. Peeta never asks for anything more than my affection. He wants no gifts. The least I can do is show him that I am on board for the holidays that seem to mean so much to him.

Swallowing thickly to force down the wave of anxiety that sweeps over me, I drop the pants to the floor and make my way to the closet I've been avoiding as much as possible since moving into Peeta's home.

The door is a cherry wood. It's pretty and inviting, not at all the monstrous thing I've come to see it as. It's my closet, the one set aside for my nicer articles of clothing. I take a deep, shuddering breath as I slide the door open and stare in at the rack full of pretty dresses. Pinks and blues and greens greet me, but I can barely see them through the tears that have suddenly sprung to my eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Cinna," I whisper as I reach a hand out to finger the soft silk of a black and red sundress. I'd shut away the memory of my stylist because coming to terms with his death was too painful. Cinna had been bold and daring. He'd died for those qualities.

Brushing away my tears with my left hand, I select a light pink dress of soft cotton. Though pink, it isn't overly girly. There are no ruffles or flare. It's simple and comfortable, making me feel more at home than I'd be in one of the flashier designs.

I slip the dress over my head and say a silent thank you to Cinna. Though no longer with me, I feel as if he's still guiding me through life. Just like I needed him during the Games to assist in my interviews, I feel like I need him now. I'm not comfortable with this girl stuff, and being in a relationship is unknown territory.

Closing my eyes, I can picture his smiling face as he instructs me to simply take Peeta's hand. It's not hard to imagine, because it is something he told me those short years ago that now feel like a lifetime away. Take Peeta's hand. Be a united front. Had he known all along where we would end up? Surely, he hadn't.

Still, it's nice to imagine his advice. Take Peeta's hand. Hold on tightly. Opening my eyes, I smooth down the soft lines of the dress with a smile. "I will, Cinna."

Instead of heading downstairs, I cross into the bathroom that connects to the bedroom and stand in front of the mirror. The dress fits me nicely, Cinna saw to that, but my face and hair leave much room for improvement.

With a grimace, I grab a washcloth from the cabinet and scrub at the dirt that smears across my face. Eventually I give up and jump into the shower for a quick scrubbing. I don't want to do things halfway. Not today. My hair is still wet and tangled when I get out, so I do my best to pull it back into a tidy braid. Slipping back into the pink dress, I assess myself with approval. I might not be as pretty as other girls, but I'm me. I'm happy with that.

Hurrying down the stairs, I meet Peeta in the kitchen. He's just moving turkey slices onto plates as I enter the room. "That smells good," I compliment.

He turns around to answer me and freezes in his tracks. He stares at me in silence, his eyes roaming from the pink dress down to my bare feet. "You're beautiful," he says breathlessly as his eyes finally come up to meet mine.

The intensity in his gaze unnerves me, so I duck my head to look at my toes. "It's one of Cinna's," I inform him, giving my stylist all the credit. "He was the one with-" My words are cut suddenly short as Peeta grabs my waist and pulls me against him.

His mouth is on mine as I give a soft gasp of surprise, his kisses warm and needy. "It's not just the dress," he argues, his lips brushing mine. "It's you."

When he deepens the kiss, his hands running up and down my back, I immediately respond. I let myself mold against him, feeling completely at ease with the familiarity of his body against mine. I've been close to Peeta so many times that I know nearly every part of his body. I know every muscle, every scar, every bulge. At that thought, I can't help but notice the changes in his body as he loses himself even more to the kiss.

It hits me that this feels different than any of the other times we've kissed. It isn't until he starts walking me backwards toward the stairs that I'm finally able to put my finger on it. Unlike any other time we've kissed, there is real intent in Peeta's actions.

This realization brings a gasp from my throat, and I wrench my lips away from his. "Peeta," I whisper breathlessly. I ask him with my eyes what I'm afraid to say with my mouth.

His nod of response makes my knees weak. "Yeah," he whispers back, his voice soft and uncertain. "I…" A blush touches his cheeks. "I'm ready to…"

I stare at him in silence for a second, memorizing every detail of this moment. We haven't even mentioned sex after the fiasco of New Year's Eve. It was something the two of us had preferred to avoid. It was obvious we weren't ready for that stage in our relationship yet.

Only now Peeta seemed to be ready, and I am more than ready to take this final step with him. After all, Peeta has been the one I've shared everything with since those first Games. He was the person I trusted over any other.

Slowly, cautiously, I closed the small space between us that I'd created when pulling back from him. I let my body slide in against his, pressing fully to him from chest to knees. My right arm slides around his neck as I pull him down for a slow, gentle kiss. We've waited months for each other. I saw no reason to rush things now.

A small whimper escapes Peeta's lips. His arms slide around my waist as he pulls me closer, his hips pressing against mine.

I can feel that he's aroused, and it makes my breath catch in my throat. Before, I'd always politely ignored his moments of weakness when his body was in more control than his mind. Tonight, I'm finally allowed to acknowledge his reaction to me.

I slide my free hand down his chest, over muscles and cotton fabric held together by white buttons. My fingertips travel over his belt before grazing along the cloth where he strains for release.

Peeta makes a tortured sound in the back of his throat. His hips move forward toward my hand of their own volition before he pulls back. "Maybe we should…" His eyes lift to the stairway as he trails off.

Seeing how nervous he is, I take the lead. Grabbing his hand, I begin guiding him up the stairs to our bedroom. I don't look back at him over my shoulder. I fear I might lose confidence if I look into his eyes.

I wait until we're in the bedroom with the door shut firmly behind us to turn around to face him. I stare up at him with longing, though I'm afraid to move. I've gotten us this far, but this is all new to me. I don't even know where to begin.

"Katniss…" He avoids my eye, his uncertainty plain on his face. "If you aren't…"

His hesitation lights a fire in me. "I am," I say firmly.

When he looks back to me in surprise, I move forward, sliding my hands up his chest until I sweep them behind his neck. "I want this."

At my confident tone, he bobs his head in agreement. "Me too."

I'm more relaxed now that I feel I have control of the situation. I know what I want, and I know what to do to get it. Standing on tiptoes, I brush my lips against his. "Sit down on the bed," I instruct, but my tone is gentle.

Nervously, he sinks down on the edge of the bed and stares up at me with wide eyes.

I want to take the uncertainty out of his eyes more than anything I could ever possibly want right now. Standing above him, I lower my mouth to his. I kiss him gently at first, my lips soothing against his.

I can tell the instant he forgets about his nerves when his hands lift to rest on my hips. Smiling, I continue to kiss him, drawing him in deeper with each passing moment. After a while, it becomes hard for me to remember what we'd been nervous about. His mouth feels so good against mine, his hands so right.

Without thinking, I crawl into his lap, straddling his waist as I push him further back onto the bed. My lips never leave his even as I hear his shuddering groan at how my body rubs along the erection that is now undeniable.

I give a whimper of my own and arch against him, my hands cupping his cheeks as I continue to devour his mouth. Deepening the kiss once again, I lean over Peeta until he's forced to lean back on his elbows, giving me full control of the situation.

My mouth never leaving his, I let my hands travel down his chest. Blindly, I pop the buttons of his shirt free of their fastenings, revealing his bare torso to me. My hands slide into the space the fabric falling open created. I let my fingertips caress along his bare flesh, feeling the raised ridge of scar tissue.

He makes a soft sound of embarrassed protest and motions as if he is going to move away from me, but I press my palm flat to his chest, stilling his movements.

"Don't," I say firmly. His scars are nothing to be embarrassed of. He has told me the same thing about myself so many times that it should be ingrained into his mind. He should know that I see his scars as a thing of beauty.

The fingertips of my left hand dance along his collarbone while those of my right slide down to the belt buckle of his slacks. One handed, I fiddle with it, trying to get the buckle loose.

Peeta's hands are suddenly there, assisting me. The buckle slides easily out of its clasp, and then he pulled the belt free of the loops of his pants.

As he chucks the belt to the floor of the bedroom, I run my hands over his shoulders, pushing his shirt down his arms and off of his body. The lighting is dim, but I can see scar tissue snaking its way across his shoulder, created a design in the path where fire had burned across his flesh. Lowering my head, I kiss the uneven slope of skin, running my lips lightly over the raised edge of hardened tissue.

Peeta sucks in a gasping breath of surprise, his hands halting in their fumbling. He swallows thickly, and when I look up at his face, I can see it's full of emotion.

I know how he feels, because I've lived with the same insecurities. Society teaches you that if you aren't unmarred and perfect, you aren't beautiful. Both of us have enough scars to be labeled as hideous. Only Peeta isn't hideous to me. Each scar indicated a battle he won, a fight he didn't give up. His scars are more beautiful to me that perfectly smooth flesh ever could be.

Not wanting him to feel overly exposed by my prodding, I slide my dress off one shoulder to show him similar scars that dominate my skin. Our bodies look like a matching set, both marred from the war we fought side by side in. "Don't stop," I instruct, feeling a rush of arousal at my request.

Peeta's arms suddenly come around my back, and he pulls me to him. His mouth finds my shoulder as his fingers pull at the zipper of my dress, sliding it down my back ever so slowly. His kisses are hot and needy, his tongue dipping out to gently caress the scars that decorate my shoulder.

I don't know much about sex, but this is the biggest turn on I've ever experienced. My head falls back to give him better access to my throat. His hands pressing firmly to my lower back is the only thing keeping me upright.

In fact, not only are they keeping me from falling backwards, they're also rocking my hips forward, guiding my body so that I press against the most intimate parts of him. "Peeta," I whisper anxiously as the realization that this is actually going to happen hits me.

"Katniss," he responds almost desperately.

His nervousness spurs me on. I'm not alone in my lack of knowledge. We're entering this together, like we've done everything else. Lowering my hands to the front of his pants, I undo the button. I hesitate only a moment before reaching for the zipper. There's no turning back now.

As I expose his briefs, I ask in an almost shy voice, "Peeta, do you have anything?" I wince, too embarrassed to say the word 'condom' aloud. "You know…protection wise?"

He pulls back from my shoulder to give me a puzzled look. It takes less than a second for realization to hit him. "Oh…oh!" Nodding, he gently removes me from his lap and reaches into the nightstand drawer. "I…got some on the train from the Capitol a few months back." His eyes widened in alarm at this admission. "Just in case. I wasn't presuming…"

I shake my head with a little smile. "It's okay. I'm glad you thought ahead."

Relief floods his face, and he nods. Taking the small, foil package, he tears the corner to reveal the condom inside. His expression quickly turns perplexed, and he licks his lips. He carefully slides his pants and briefs down his legs to the floor, all the while blushing. He keeps his face downturned as if afraid to look at me while being naked.

To help ease his discomfort, I pull my dress over my head and toss it to the floor. I feel suddenly cold, but know I will have his body heat in a few moments to take away the chill.

Peeta finally looks up when he hears my dress hit the floor.

I laugh softly at his wide-eyed shock. "Seemed fair." I nod toward the still packaged condom in his hand. "You work on that, and I'll get out of my underwear."

He nods again, his expression almost panicky.

As I shimmy out of my undergarments, I can't help but watch him as he struggles with the condom.

His hand are trembling so much that he drops it to the bed once he manages to get it out of the packaging. Getting it onto himself seems like an impossible challenge. His hands are quivering, and his breathing is erratic and frustrated at his lack of dexterity.

Taking pity on him, I reach out and cover his hand with mine. "Let me help."

The look he shoots me is full of gratitude. "Okay." Shyly, he moves his hands away, leaving me to the task of getting him prepared.

I have a much easier time getting the condom to fit onto him, but I suppose that can be attributed to my delight at the soft gasps that escape him every time my fingers brush his sensitive flesh. Before long, he is completely sheathed and ready for whatever activities may come. Lifting my eyes to his, I take a deep breath. "You're ready."

"Are you?"

His soft inquiry is full of hope, but there is uncertainty underneath.

I am quick to reassure him. "I'm ready." My hands are the ones trembling now as I lower myself to lie on the bed. I stare up at him, knowing my face must be full of vulnerability. "I think I've been ready for a long time."

Peeta nods, knowing I'm telling the truth. I think we've both needed each other for so long, this final step seemed inevitable. It's a big step, but not one that wasn't anticipated. Slowly, he positions himself above me, holding himself up with his forearms. "I don't want to hurt you."

My arms slide around his back and I pull him closer. "You're the last person in the world who would hurt me." I cling tightly to his shoulders, knowing the first reaction to our joining will be pain. It's okay, though. I want him, all of him. "I trust you."

With my words of encouragement, Peeta angles himself toward me, and then gently pushes his way inside.

My grip tightens on his shoulders, but the pain isn't nearly what I imagined. It's uncomfortable, but underneath the discomfort, there is pleasure to be found as well.

Peeta misreads my reaction and almost pulls away. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I'm so-"

Before he can finish his sentence, I pull him back down to me and capture his lips with a silencing kiss. "Keep going," I whisper into his mouth. With that, I close my eyes and give myself over to the sensations.

Peeta's mouth and kisses are hot against my lips. His flesh is warm on my own. I can smell the cologne he's put on for this occasion, and its soft scent is soothing. Everything about this moment is perfect. I keep my arms locked tightly around him as my hips begin to lift to match his thrusts.

It's slow going and awkward at first, but we quickly find a pleasing rhythm. His movements are gentle, but deep. I can feel him filling my body, claiming me in a way no one else ever has. In this moment, I am all Peeta's. I realize that I'll never belong to anyone else. No one could ever mean as much to me as this boy.

"Peeta," I gasp softly, my body moving in time with his. My ability to move in tandem with him amazes me. I've never been able to dance, nor am I graceful. But our bodies seemed to flow together. I instinctively know what to do, where to move.

As I move closer and closer to something unfamiliar yet tantalizing, he whispers the words he has only spoken once, a month ago, "I love you, Katniss."

His declaration startles me, and that small lapse in concentration throws me over the edge. My body spasms around his, and I give a desperate gasp of surprise. Nothing I've ever experienced in my life comes close to comparing to this. I cling to him, unable to do anything but weep into his shoulder.

I feel him reach completion a moment after me, his hands griping my hips with enough force to bruise. It seems to take him a minute to realize his long fingers are digging into my flesh, but he finally loosens his grip. He comes down from his high with a shuddering laugh of happiness. His laughter fades as he takes in my reaction.

My weeping has continued. I don't know why I'm crying, but I can't stop. It's as if every emotion had come pouring out of me in my moment of release, leaving me raw and exposed.

Peeta's hands are caressing my hair, my face. "Did I hurt you?" he asks with horror.

I frantically shake my head, tears streaming down my cheeks. "No. You fixed me." I move closer to him on the bed and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my face into his chest.

He holds me in the dark while I cry.

I can't explain to him that he's given me the first taste of genuine love since my father's death. My mother gave up on love the day my father died. She's been an empty, aching hole in my heart. Prim loved me, but I knew she'd always longed for those less complicated days where my father was still the man of the house. I was a provider to her, not simply a beloved sister. I had the ability to disappoint her if meals were too meager. It is impossible to fully love someone you feel dependent on. Gail may have had feelings for me, but they were all wrapped around his ideas of the Mocking Jay. He'd loved the idea, not the girl behind it.

Peeta loves me in a way that is so uncomplicated and basic. He loved me before I was the Mocking Jay, before I was the Girl on Fire. He'd been willing to give his life to guarantee my survival. For this simplistic, unpretentious love, I wept.

Finally, once my shoulders stopped shaking, and my breathing became even, Peeta asks softly into the darkness, "Katniss?"

"Hmm?"

"You love me. Real or not real?"

His question catches me off guard. The answer seems so obvious, so apparent. How can he even think I might answer any other way? "Real," I respond firmly as I hold tightly to him in the dark.

"That's all I've ever wanted."

This is something I can easily give him. It's something I'll continue to give him until the day I die. I love Peeta Mellark. I love him for his kindness, his gentleness. But most of all, I love him for loving me. "Happy Valentine's Day, Peeta."

He lowers a kiss to the top of my head. "Happy Valentine's Day, Katniss."


	6. Chapter 6 Peeta Appreciation Day

Finally updating. Sorry to keep everyone waiting. Things have been really crazy with me, so I write when I can. Thanks to everyone who has left me such beautiful feedback or added my story to their list of favorites. It keeps me inspired to write more.

Peeta Appreciation Day

With furrowed brows, I let my eyes sweep over the cake in front of me in disapproval. Pinching my bottom lip between my teeth, I give a sigh of defeat. "As cakes go, you're pretty pathetic," I inform the lopsided blob of chocolate mess.

I can't help but worry that my plan will be ruined by this feeble attempt at baking. There's a reason why Peeta doesn't usually allow me in the kitchen. I'm a terrible chef. I could screw up slicing a piece of fruit.

The cake might be ugly but I'm hoping Peeta will realize it came from the heart and not the skilled hands of a baker. Everything I've done today has been for Peeta. I realized months ago that he has a fixation with holidays. One hasn't gone by that he didn't make a fuss over. I, on the other hand, have been lacking.

If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't even have noticed it was winter, let alone that Christmas had gone by. It was never something I had the luxury of celebrating even before the Hunger Games and the subsequent war. We'd been too poor.

Yet this stuff is important to him. I think it gives him a sense of 'belonging'. It makes us feel like family, something he desperately misses. With that in mind, I decided to do something special for Peeta. He's done so much for me. I felt it was only fair that I return the favor. I've merely gone along with all of his other holiday plans. This time, I was going to be the one making the effort.

Lifting a tube of icing, I stare at the metal end clutched between my fingertips with a frown. I was not meant for cake decorating. I don't have the delicate touch Peeta does.

This thought throws me back a few years to a time before the Hunger Games when I would take my sister to the Mellark's bakery to admire Peeta's cakes. My breath leaves me in a shudder as I picture that young girl who no longer feels like me as she allows her baby sister to admire cakes she could never afford.

I can picture Prim in her hand-me-down school clothes as she points with excitement to different designs and patterns drawn on the cakes. I close my eyes and envision her youthful face as it lights with glee. She'll never get any older, so even as I age, Prim will always be that innocent child to me.

With my eyes closed, I can see not only Prim but the bakery as well. It's been so long since I've thought of the place, but I can visualize it like it was yesterday. The paint of the walls is chipped and peeling, but it's in better shape than any building in the Seam. The few small tables inside are mismatched and old, but they are clean. The display case in front practically shines. The Mellarks always kept it especially spotless so customers could admire the cakes behind the glass.

My eyes sweep to the counter of my daydream and my breath catches in my throat. Peeta stands staring at me as he always had. He's silent. Neither of us ever knew what to say to each other back then, so we simply didn't. We never talked. We never acknowledged one another. We simply stared and occasionally blushed.

Only now, as I stare at the Peeta of times past, something different happens. My mind is hit with flashes of dark nights and warm sheets. I see glimpses of naked flesh and writhing bodies.

My eyes pop open with a gasp and I'm forced to grab the edge of the counter to steady myself. I can't help but wonder if this is a sign of healing. Usually when I think about the past, I'm full of remorse and agony.

Moments ago, I'd looked into the past and held onto a good memory. It didn't move forward to the anguish that later befell us. It stayed nothing more than a fond glimpse of the past. Then it had been disrupted by new memories created after the war. There hadn't been an ounce of pain in either the old memory or the newer one.

This is something I've been struggling with, holding onto the good memories of the past without having them tainted by the events that nearly crippled my life and left me a broken shell of who I'd once been.

My skin feels warm from the remembrance of Peeta's hands as they caressed their way across my bare abdomen, of the memory of his persistent kisses. Shivering, I turn my attention back to the cake and begin to squeeze icing onto the top of it.

A frosted purple shoots from the tube and covers a portion of the cake in a thick blob. Snickering, I take a spatula and begin smoothing the icing out as best as I can. This is another milestone for me. A year ago, I didn't even know what a spatula was. Today, I was using one with noteworthy success.

I laugh at this, because the idea of me using a spatula is so ridiculous. If me from the past could see this, she would slap me in the head. As I continue to laugh, a voice breaks into the relative silence of the kitchen.

"I'll admit the cake looks pretty rough, but that's no reason to laugh at it."

I spin at the sound of the familiar voice. "Peeta!" While he takes in the scene in the kitchen with an amused look of confusion, I study him as well. Every day he looks healthier, looks more like the boy he'd been before the Games tore his world apart.

His skin is starting to heal, leaving pale scar tissue behind that is better than the angry red burns of before. He's put on a little weight, his body filling out in ways that make my knees weak. He's gotten back his original weight and then some. He's no longer the half-starved boy of pre-war District 12. Now that he's running the bakery, he does most of the lifting, giving muscle to his arms that previously hadn't been there. He's tall and fit and…mine.

That thought has me flushing in embarrassment. I don't know the first thing about being girly, yet here I am living with the District's most eligible bachelor. I'd be kidding myself if I said I didn't see the way other girls look at Peeta. He's gorgeous. I'd also be kidding myself if I didn't admit that he has eyes only for me. They never stray.

"What is all of this?" he asks with a questioning grin as he waves a hand toward the cake.

I look down at the mess before me with an embarrassed shrug. "I was trying to bake a cake. It's not going too well. Obviously."

He stares at the disaster for a moment before briskly making his way into the kitchen. "We can fix this."

"You mean you can fix this," I correct with an arch of my brows.

He shrugs with a guilty grin. "I said we." Moving to one of the drawers, he pulls out a sharp knife and nudges me gently out of the way.

I take a step back and watch as he slices a thin layer off the top of the cake, then does the same for the sides. I love watching Peeta in the kitchen. He moves around with such confidence and surety. He's in his element here, and I enjoy watching him do something that bring him pleasure.

"There," he says as he takes a step back to admire his work. "I evened it out some." His eyes move to the purple icing and he smirks in amusement. "You're using decorative icing. That comes later. You need to start with a base layer first." Moving to another cabinet, he pulls out a tub of chocolate icing and walks it back over. "Come here," he instructs with a wave of his hand.

Obediently, I step back in toward the cake.

His arm curves around my waist and he pulls me in front of him. "You had the right idea," he says softly against my ear. "Only you had the wrong icing." Picking up my discarded spatula, he places it in my hand. His fingers curl around the handle on top of mine as he guides me toward the tub of icing.

I'm so distracted by the feel of his chest against my back and his breath against my ear that I can barely pay attention to the instructions he's giving me. It's a good thing he keeps his hands over mine as we spread the icing along the top of the cake, because I would have embarrassed myself for sure by proving I'd barely been listening.

"See?" he murmurs against my ear. "Slow, steady strokes. Make sure the surface is even." He moves my hand along the top of the cake, spreading icing along the now level top.

"Mmm-hmm," I mumble in return, reveling in the warmth that radiates off his body. Though I am still distracted by his closeness, I can't help but notice that my despicable cake is starting to look almost pretty. It looks tidy and smooth, worlds away from what I'd started with. It was amazing that Peeta could take a disaster and turn it into something beautiful. Kind of like what he's done with me.

That thought makes my breath catch in my throat. Is that what he's done? Like with the cake, did he scrape away all my rough layers to the softness beneath? Did he take the damaged pieces of my life and manage to salvage something underneath all of that that was worth saving? The comparison is almost too much to handle.

I feel tears prick at my eyes and I force them back. I hate crying in front of him. I think part of that is because I know I can. He'll never think I'm crazy for the random things that set me off, because he has them too.

In fact, last week Peeta received a cupcake pan he'd ordered from the Capitol. When he opened the package, though he knew what was inside, he broke down. The pan looked just the one he'd lost when District 12 was bombed. It had disappeared along with the rest of his family, most importantly the caring father who'd taught him to use it. The pan was a reminder of everything he'd lost. We both have moments like this.

Peeta pulls me back to the present with a simple kiss against the side of my neck. Whether he knows I've just taken a trip down memory lane or if it was simple spontaneity, he brings me back. He's the only person in the world who can do this. "We can write on the cake now," he informs me.

Setting aside the spatula, he picks up the purple icing I'd started with. He grips it between two hands and easily creates a flower in one of the cake's corners. "What do you want written on here? What's the occasion?"

I reach out and take the icing from him. This part I have to do for myself, because it won't have the same effect if I merely dictate. Mimicking his stance and grip, I write out the words that sum up why I decided to try my hand at baking, why I never crumbled from grief after so much misery.

'_I Love You, Peeta'_ is scrawled atop the cake. It's sloppy, but the message is full of sentiment. I never was one for decoration or flare, so the shaky writing fits me nicely.

"Katniss?" he asked in a soft voice full of confusion. "What is this?"

I turn in his arms so I can look up into the bright blue of his eyes. "You've cared so much about these holidays," I start in a voice just as quiet as his. "You've been trying to make this feel like a family, despite my reservations about relationships. You have been so unbelievably good to me. I just…I wanted to make sure you knew that your efforts were appreciated."

"Of course I know."

I cut him off before he can say anything more. "I wanted to make my own holiday, one just for you." I correct myself. "For us." Reaching out, I run a hand along his forearm. "Your birthday isn't until fall, so I made up my own day to celebrate what I was feeling - Peeta Appreciation Day." I can't stop my wry grin at that. "The name's pretty lame, but it was all I could come up with."

"The name is pretty lame," he agrees as his lips broaden into a wide smile.

"Hey!" Dipping my fingers in the tub of icing, I dab some on the tip of his nose. "That's not very nice."

"It _is_ lame," he stresses with a laugh. "That doesn't mean I don't adore your lameness." When I attempt to attack him with more icing, Peeta snatches my wrist out of mid-air and clutches in tightly in his grip. "I wouldn't trade a second of your lameness for anything in the world," he informs me. He lifts my icing covered finger to his lips and kisses it ever so gently. Then he lifts the icing away with his tongue.

While I'm shivering with delight at his actions, Peeta's eyes take on a look I've come to recognize well. It's a look of companionship, and emotions, and lust. He subconsciously steps closer, pinning me against the counter with his hips. His lips lower to mine, and I note that they taste sweet and sugary. With a soft sound of desire, I slide my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

"You don't have to bake me cakes," he mumbles against my mouth while his hands slide along my waist, caressing me through my thin t-shirt. "I know you appreciate me every day." He loses himself for a moment in our kissing as he hefts me up onto the counter, stepping in as close to me as he can possibly get. "You show me when you bring home food for our survival. You show me when you curl up at night with me in front of the fire, or when you hold me at night after I have a flashback. You show me by letting me be with you." He hesitates, a blush touching his cheeks. "You show me when we have sex exactly what you feel for me."

I know how awkward we both are about the topic of sex, so I understand how hard it is for him to mention it. We've been getting more familiar with each other's bodies at night when the lights are out and there's no pressure to talk about it, but the subject is still sensitive. I know how difficult it must be for him to talk about the connection we share during sex, so I want to take his mind off the unease that came with his statement. I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him even closer to me. "Let me show you now," I whisper against his lips.

It takes some maneuvering, but somehow we manage to get our bodies joined. I end up sprawled halfway across the kitchen counter with Peeta leaning over me. His arms are braced on the counter above my head, and I can see his forearm muscles straining with the effort to hold himself in check. Uttered sounds of sex echo in our tiny kitchen as we both let out soft noises that bring blushes to our cheeks.

When we finally reach it, the release is magical and intimate. His lips on mine still taste like sugar. We both reach our completion with me clinging to his neck and his fingers digging into the countertop. He groans low in his throat, and I whimper my pleasure into his mouth.

When I'm finally able to find my voice, I breathlessly whisper, "Peeta Mellark, shame on you. A baker such as yourself should know that this isn't proper use of a countertop."

The air rushes from his lungs in a shaky chuckle. "No, but I think it's my new favorite use." He kisses me very gently before pulling back to stare into my eyes with a serious expression. "You know I love you, right?"

His unexpected question comes so suddenly, there's no way to ignore it. Blushing, I look away, but I bob my head in response. "Yeah. I know."

"I will always be here for you," he states firmly. "Always."

The Games and the war have taken so much from me. My sister is dead. My mother and Gale left me. Most of District 12 is still in ruins. I lost my last remaining innocence when I took a human life. I've lost nearly everything, but in that moment, I know he's speaking the truth.

Peeta Mellark will never leave me. And neither one of us will let him be taken either. Never again. Snow did his worst with the tracker jacker venom, but we still found our way back together. Nothing can ever come between us.

In a rare show of emotion, I tuck my head in against his shoulder. "You're my family now," I whisper. And I don't need anything else.

"Family," he agrees, running a hand soothingly along my back. I have my eyes closed, but I can feel his smile as he brushes his lips across my temple. "Now, let's try some of this cake and hope that it doesn't taste as bad as it originally looked."

With a laugh, I swat playfully at his shoulder. "Don't make me take back Peeta Appreciation Day."

He snorts as he picks up the earlier discarded knife. "There's no taking that back. Something as cheesy as that is going to stick in my mind for forever. You'll never live it down."

As I watch him carve out a slice of cake, I realize that doesn't bother me. As long as I'm there with him.


	7. Chapter 7 Easter

Thank you once again for the lovely feedback. It's nice to see others out there who appreciate Peeta as much as I do. ;) The last edition was just filler fluff. This is some hardcore story here! Hope everyone enjoys!

If you would have told me a few years ago that I would be bustling around a bakery, helping my boyfriend make Easter chocolates, I would have thought you were crazy. But here I am, elbow deep in melted chocolate with Peeta Mellark.

"Don't let that chocolate burn!" he orders as he brushes past me to stir a glass jar he has heating on top of one of the big ovens.

I smirk at his demand, because he wouldn't ever give me the chance to burn something. He's had his hands on every step in the process. I'm really just here for show. I pour melted chocolate into his plastic molds and place them in the refrigerator to cool while trying to stay out of his way.

I prefer it this way. There's no chance of me screwing something up. Besides, I will guiltily admit that he is totally adorable when he's running around like this. Leaning back against the counter, I watch as he stirs our next batch of chocolate, his brows furrowed in concentration as he tries to assure everything is perfect.

He's got a smudge of chocolate across the front of his white apron, which I take the blame for. It involved a very hot jar and clumsy hands. His sleeves are rolled up to avoid any mess, and his short hair is sticking up in patches from running his fingers through it.

I gaze at him and feel my heart melt. He is such an amazing man. Not for the first time, I wonder how someone like me wound up with someone like him. Everything he does is selfless. Like today for example. He has been working nonstop for the past two days to bring a good Easter to the remaining children of District 12.

He'd ordered dozens of brightly colored plastics eggs from the Capitol, which he filled with miniature chocolate bunnies, chicks, and eggs. While the two of us finish up the last few batches of chocolate, Peeta had Haymitch and Effie hide the eggs along the shops on the main road in town. Haymitch had to be bribed with a dozen chocolates of his own to participate, but Peeta had anticipated that.

Pushing off of the counter, I make my way over to Peeta and wrap my arms around his waist from behind. I hug him for a moment, letting my cheek rest on his back. "You think that last batch is cool enough to transfer to eggs?" I ask.

"I do," he says distractedly as he lifts the spoon from the jar in front of him. Spinning to face me, he asks, "Do you think this is done?"

I arch a brow at that. We both know that I know very little about chocolate, but it's sweet that he pretended my opinion holds any weight. "Looks done to me."

He smiles, seemingly pleased that I've chosen the correct answer.

When Peeta smiles, he looks years younger. He looks as if the games haven't worn him down or put such strain on his body. He looks as if the flashbacks don't constantly plague him or that his leg doesn't ache after walking around on a prosthetic all day long. At that thought, my spirits sag and I swallow thickly in an attempt to cover my mind's grim wanderings.

As always, he is the perfect judge of my mood, because he sets the jar to the side, cups my face in his hands, and kisses me. The kiss is deep and hungry. His body moves against mine in a suggestive way he's managed to perfect over the past couple months. When he pulls back, I'm breathless. "Stop worrying about me," he whispers against my lips. "I'm fine."

With my eyes closed, I nod, my forehead brushing against his.

"Now get to work on filling those eggs," he says firmly. His voice holds no room for argument and leaves me no time to worry over things that obviously aren't bothering him at the moment.

I smile softly at the way he's able to drag me out of my morbid thoughts and give me something constructive to do. "You're the boss," I concede. Crossing to the refrigerator, I pull out the latest batch of molded chocolate. I shake out the bunnies and ducks from the tray and begin sorting them into eggs.

While I sort, Peeta pours the last of the chocolate into the mold I just emptied and slides it into the fridge to cool. Then he settles in next to me and begins filling the brightly colored eggs. "This is going to be perfect," he informs me.

My eyes go to the stack of wicker baskets leaning against the counter. Peeta took the time to wrap colored ribbons around each basket and tie them in pretty bows. Each child would receive one at the start of the scavenger hunt so they had somewhere to store their treasures. He has thought of every tiny detail to make this day perfect. It suddenly makes me realize that Peeta would make a great father.

That thought frightens me, because it isn't something I want. I've always said I would never bring a child into a world like this, and I meant it. I've seen enough heartache and pain to last a lifetime. I refuse to subject another human being, a child to that type of suffering.

I fear this might be the final step that causes me to lose him. He's given me so much, given up so much for me, but this might be the one thing he won't concede. Peeta would make a good father, and I know it's selfish of me to ask him to be with me when I know I will never give him a child. It's something I just can't do no matter how much I love him.

"Everything looks perfect," I answer thickly. I can't even look at him. Nor can I keep my hands from trembling as I package up the last of the chocolates.

It's after I drop my second chocolate duck that he reaches out to grab my hands. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head and remove my hands from his, afraid to answer.

"Come on," he wheedles, turning me to face him. "We faced the Games together and survived. There's nothing worse than that. Whatever's bothering you…I can handle it. I promise." His face is full of openness and concern, making me feel even guiltier.

"I don't want children," I blurt out before I'm able to stop myself. A shuddering breath escapes me. This is like a dirty secret I've been keeping from him. It feels so good to get it off my chest, no matter how much I fear his reaction.

"I do." His response hangs in the air, leaving an awkward silence between us. Peeta stares at me for a full minute before slowly saying, "Okay." He opens his mouth, hesitates, then closes it again. After another uncomfortable pause, he says, "Don't you think you're rushing that thought a little bit?"

"It's not rushing when it's something I know I'll never want." I shrug, averting my eyes. "You deserved to know. If it's…" I trail off, afraid to finish my sentence, but I braved the Hunger Games, I can do this. "If it's something you can't look past, I understand. Only…it's best we end this now, before we get too…"

"I'm already too involved," Peeta says softly. He glanced down at his feet, sighs, then lifts his eyes to stare into mine. "Katniss…" Reaching out, he takes my hands in his. "I love you." Taking a deep breath, he adds, "I love you more than I love the thought of having children. If I'm forced to give up something, I don't want it to be you."

I feel tears well in my eyes at his honest confession. His love for me is so selfless and remarkable. Once again, I am reminded that I don't deserve him. "That isn't fair to you," I whisper, trying to peer at him through my tears. "You would be an excellent father. It's not fair to deprive you of that."

He downcasts his eyes for a second, training them on our joint hands. "Listen," he says softly. "I do want children, very badly." He finally looks up at me. "But I want them with you. If…if you need time…"

"I don't need time," I tell him regretfully. "Time isn't going to change—"

He cuts me off. "If time won't change your mind, then at least let me think it might." His eyes are sad but determined. "Don't tell me never. Let me at least hold on to the hope that you might change your mind one day. You don't know how you'll feel in five years or ten."

I'm pretty sure I know how I'll feel, but I can't bear to crush the little bit of hope he's clinging to.

"Please," he almost pleads. "It's not wrong to hope, is it? I'll wait forever for you. Just don't ask me to accept never as an answer."

Overcome with emotion, I lean forward to hug him. "I never want you to give up hope." I doubt I'll change my mind, but I never want to see him give up, to stop fighting for what he wants in life. If Peeta was a quitter, he'd have given up on me a long time ago.

"That's not a no." He chuckles against my ear. "I'll wear you down."

"Peeta…"

Pulling back, he kisses me into silence. "I don't want to hear it," he says firmly. With that, he returns to finishing the last of the chocolates.

I stand with Peeta as we watch the children of District 12 race about the main street of town with colorful Easter baskets in tow. They squeal and giggle as they dart about, dodging playfully around potted plants and mailboxes as they search for treats.

A little girl I don't recognizes rushes up to us, her blonde ponytail bobbing and her cheeks flushed pink with exertion. "Mr. Mellark! Mr. Mellark!" she cries with excitement.

Peeta stoops down in front of her with a crooked grin. "Yes, Lilah?"

"Mr. Mellark, I did what you asked me. I hid the special egg for the Mockingjay." She glances shyly at me before quickly returning her gaze to Peeta. "And I found this too." She holds out a bright pink and yellow egg to him. "It's from the hunt."

Smiling, Peeta cracks open the egg and offers Lilah the chocolate bunny inside. "I'd say you earned this."

She eagerly accepts the candy from him and takes a delicate bite. Her eyes instantly light up with delight. "It's so good!"

He nods his approval. "Thank you." He lets her eat for a moment, before saying, "Now remember, I promised to make you a birthday cake if you hid my special egg for me. Don't forget to come pick it up next week."

"Oh, I won't, Mr. Mellark!" she gushes. "Thank you. Thank you."

Peeta pats her on the top of her tiny head. "Now go hunt some eggs." He hands the basket in his hand to her, and the little girl takes off with a squeal down the dirt road.

As he climbs slowly back to his feet, I look at him with arched brows. "What was that all about? Special egg?"

Peeta's grin widens. "Let's just say I have an Easter surprise for you as well. You just have to find it."

I stare dryly at him, refusing to budge from my spot. "Really? You're serious?"

"Completely," he assures. "Start searching."

I still don't move. "Don't you think I'm a little too old to be searching for Easter eggs?"

"Not at all." He puts his hands on my shoulders and starts guiding me toward the center of town. "I'll play hotter/colder with you if you want."

"I want," I say cynically. If he plans on making me play this silly game, he'd better give me some help. Realizing he is completely serious about making me track down an Easter egg, I let out a huff and take a big step away from him.

"Colder."

I roll my eyes. Giving another huff, I step back toward him.

"Hotter."

I take another step.

"Hotter."

I take the last step, putting my nose practically in his chest.

"On fire," he breathes in my ear before tilting my chin up so he can kiss me. The kiss is long and deep, his mouth moving skillfully against my own. Once he has me breathless, he pulls back with a laugh. "Okay, colder. I was lying. I just wanted to do that."

Playfully, I slap him in the chest, laughing despite my reluctance to participate in this game. "You're bad." Turning my back on him, I walk toward the center of town, using his hot and cold instructions to take me to the area where his secret egg is hidden.

He walks me out of town, into the woods, and all the way to the lake where my father used to take me to swim as a child.

I spin to look at him with suspicion. This pond has become a little getaway spot for us. A few weeks ago, I'd brought him here on a warm day to teach him how to swim, something he longed for after the second Hunger Games. What had started out as a practical swimming lesson had turned into a romantic interlude.

We'd made love in the lake and then on the lush grass beside it. We'd crept out here at night twice the following week to swim and lay gazing up at the stars. This was our place, something we shared in our most intimate of times. Whatever he was planning, it meant a lot to him.

"Peeta…"

"Hotter," was all he said with a shake of his head.

Taking the hint, I tiptoed toward the lake, my eyes sweeping my surroundings. Then I found it. Nestled in the grass a few feet from a picnic basket and blanket sat a blue plastic egg. I made my way over to it and lifted it from the grass. "I don't get why we had to come all the way out here for an egg filled with chocolate." Yet, I knew why. The picnic was why. The romantic dinner by the lake was why.

"Open it," Peeta said softly.

Following his instructions, I crack the egg at the seam and peer inside. What I see nearly stops my heart.

Nestled inside the plastic is a ring. The diamond in the center sparkles in the afternoon sun, reflecting a beautiful array of colors. I stare speechless at the small piece of jewelry, my mind a haze of fear and anticipation.

"Marry me."

In a daze, I turn to look at Peeta.

He's standing behind me with a hopeful expression on his face. Without any warning, he drops to a knee in front of me, then reaches out to take my hand. "Marry me, Katniss Everdeen."

I'm still unable to find my voice as I look between him and the ring. This moment feels unreal, like I'm dreaming. I'm glad he continues speaking, because I can't seem to find my voice.

"At my worst moments, when Snow had me and I thought all hope was lost…you were what kept me going. It was always you. You were my reason for living back then." He lightly squeezes my fingers. "You're my reason now. I want to spend every moment of the rest of my life making you happy." He gazes up at me with wide, expectant blue eyes. "Will you marry me?"

I still can't speak, so at first I just nod. "I…" I suddenly realize why I can't talk. Tears are streaming down my cheeks as I stare down at the most amazing man in Panem. "I…I…" I swallow thickly and force out one word. "Yes."

The grin that spreads across his face is worth the effort to get the word past the lump in my throat. He jumps to his feet and takes the ring from me.

I watch, stunned as he slides it onto my finger. The diamond is much larger than any I've ever seen in District 12. I know it must have cost him a month's profits at the bakery. I can't fathom why he would want to spend so much, especially when I would have said yes without the presence of a ring.

Gale was wrong when he once stated that I would chose the man who could best provide for me. I could provide for myself. I didn't need that type of security from Peeta. All I needed was his heart. "Peeta, it's too much."

"It's not too much," he objects. "It's perfect." He pulls me into his arms and gives me a kiss so filled with passion, it starts another round of tears.

I can't remember ever crying because I was happy. This is a new and embarrassing experience for me. Crying over the loss of Prim is one thing. Crying like this makes me feel…like a girl. Further cementing my mortification, I gush, "It's beautiful." I lift my hand to watch the ring as it once again reflects the sunlight.

He smiles and hugs me tight. "A beautiful ring for a beautiful woman."

I shake my head at that but can't stop my smile. With my head resting on his chest, I murmur, "I love you, Peeta."

"I know you do. I've always known," he admits. "I knew long before you did. What do you think kept me going all this time?"

I lift my head to look up at him with a wry smile, not doubting for a moment that he had figured things out before me. "When did you know?"

"I think I started to have a suspicion during our second Hunger Games when Finnick revived me after I hit that electrified barrier." He smirked. "When I came to, you were so worried, more worried than you should have been."

"You died," I grumbled in my defense.

"And you would have missed me."

I bobbed my head in agreement, giving a soft shiver of fear. "Don't ever scare me like that again."

"I promise." Peeta takes my face in his hands as he gazes down at me. "I intend for us to spend the rest of our lives together. You're never getting rid of me." With that, he lowers his face to mine and everything is just perfect.

I am trying to start up a Hunger Games RPG game. It is going to be set during the second book with a little twist. Instead of Katniss and Peeta being thrown back into the Games, the Quarter Quell stipulation is different. People who are 18 and OVER are being selected, those who thought they were safe.

In this twist, Katniss's mother and Gale are thrown into the arena. Peeta and Katniss become the mentors of them, creating a new sort of horror for Katniss. I plan to play out the games with some tributes getting killed and in the end, some being saved by the rebels as Katniss was at the end of the second book. It's a new way to start the war and play things out. If anyone is interested in writing with me, send me a private message.


	8. Chapter 8 The Final Chapter

I have made so many mistakes in life. My actions have led to the deaths of people I cared about. Prim. Finnick. Their faces flash through my mind for a moment, and I am filled with remorse. I quickly push it aside, because today is not about the mistakes I've made.

Today is about the few correct choices I've made in life. As I look down at Peeta's sleeping form, I can say with absolute certainty that he was a right decision. Peeta Mellark has become everything to me in a world where even my own mother abandoned me. Gale, my best friend, hasn't so much as stopped to visit in District 12 since his departure. Peeta is the only one who stood by my side through thick and thin. He is a man like no other.

He has dedicated his life to making me happy. It's taken a while, but I have reached a point in my life where I can wholly claim the same. I want to make Peeta happy, no matter what the cost might be to myself. Reaching a hand out, I brush his sun-bleached hair away from his forehead and whisper his name.

He stirs sleepily and mumbles a few incoherent words.

With an affectionate smile, I slide in next to him. I twine my legs with his and gently pat his shoulder. "Peeta, wake up."

My words of encouragement finally rouse him.

He gazes at me through bleary eyes. "Katniss, it's a Sunday morning. Why are you up so early?" He shifts in the bed so I can lay more comfortably against him but shows no signs that he is going to be leaving the warm comfort of the blankets any time soon.

I ignore the offer to snuggle down. Instead, I sit up and grab a large wrapped gift from the floor beside the bed. I plop the box in my lap and stare at him with mock disapproval. "Today is one of those holidays you seem to care so much about. You can't sleep through it."

He blinks a few times before reluctantly sitting up. "Holiday? Today isn't a holiday." His hands rub tiredly across his face, along the few day's worth of light blond stubble.

"It is too." I never was the most patient person, so I shove the box into his hands. "Will you just open it already."

He's silent for a moment. Then with a shrug, he takes the box from me.

I am filled with an anticipation like nothing I've ever known before. The contents of the box might be nothing more than cotton and Velcro, but their significance goes beyond words. My heart is pounding in my chest as he peels away the simple blue wrapping paper.

I can tell by the puzzled expression on his face that he doesn't understand the gift. He doesn't understand the holiday. He doesn't understand any of it.

His brows are pinched together in confusion. He stares at the box in front of him, then looks up at me. "I don't understand." His words are slow and careful. "What…"

"It's Father's Day, Peeta," I explain softly.

His eyebrows arch at the ridiculousness of that statement. "Father's Day?" His gaze returns to the box of diapers in his lap, and suddenly it sinks in.

I see the moment it registers in his mind. He freezes. His breath stops in his lungs, trapped by the overwhelming shock of what my gift means. With his body completely stiff, those brilliant blue eyes lift to mine. "Katniss, are you…"

I can tell he is afraid to even hope. Fifteen long years I've made him wait for this day. Fifteen years he's dropped subtle hints…and some not so subtle hints. It took me a decade and a half to finally be ready, to find the self-sacrifice to give him the only thing he's ever asked of me.

I might be terrified of bringing another life into the world, but Peeta Mellark deserves to be a father. I nod slowly, feeling tears well in my eyes. "Yeah," I answer, feeling embarrassed as my voice wavers with emotion. "I am."

Peeta lets out a whoop of disbelief. Shoving the box of diapers to the side, he envelopes me in a giant hug. "I can't believe… I thought…" He is laughing and crying at the same time. Pulling back, he takes my face in his hands. "I love you."

His words are so simple and honest, I feel my resolve not to get emotional weakening. I let him kiss me, let him stroke my face and whisper soft words of affection.

When he finally pulls back, he is full of questions. "How far along are you?"

"I stopped taking my birth control six months ago. I think it took two months after that before I…" I trail off with a little shrug.

His eyes widen. "Four? You are four months along?" He shakes his head in disbelief. "How could I not know? How did I not notice?" His hands fall to my belly and he places his palms flat against my softly rounded stomach.

I've felt the baby kicking around inside of me since Peeta's first waking statement. Whether the child is male or female, I have no clue. Yet I do know that it already loves his or her father. Just the sound of Peeta's voice brings about a round of kicks and flutters.

It's a feeling I've come to hate and love at the same time. The feeling of a baby moving in my stomach fills me with terror and dread. After everything Peeta and I have done, after everything we've been through, will people really allow our children any peace? With the instability of Panem, will things get better or worse in the upcoming years? I don't know the answers to any such questions, and it terrifies me.

But seeing Peeta, watching the joy on his face… I know I've done the right thing. He deserves this. He's wanted it so very badly. I love him enough to get over my worries and fears. I will make a family for us and protect them as best as I can. For him.

Peeta suddenly lowers his ear to my stomach. A giddy grin is plastered across his still boyish face as he listens at my belly for the sounds of stirring.

"It can't talk yet," I chide with a laugh. "What exactly are you listening for?" My hand goes to his hair and I affectionately run my fingers through the golden strands.

"It?" he asked, pretending to sound appalled. "That is our baby." He laughs, delight plain on his face. "Our baby." His mouth lowers and he presses a kiss to my stomach. He gives it one last affectionate pat before sitting up. "Thank you so much, Katniss," he whispers. "I know this isn't what you wanted. I'm no fool. I know you did this for me." He reaches out to touch my belly again, as if he can't help himself. "I promise I will spend the rest of our lives proving to you that it was the best decision you ever made."

I nod. Leaning close, I rest my head against his shoulder. "Falling in love with you was the best decision I ever made. Not that you gave me a choice," I accuse teasingly. As my mind travels back over the years, I realize that it had always been Peeta. No matter how much I'd tried to deny it, he'd stamped his mark on my soul the night he tossed me that bread in the rain. I'd never forgotten it. No matter how hard I repressed it, the memories kept coming back. He'd saved my life back then, and I had always loved him for it.

It wasn't until recently that I realized Gale never would have made me happy. Had I never been thrown into the games, had I never started a revolution, Gale still wouldn't have been enough. I couldn't have been happy with him because my heart had already chosen someone else. My boy with the bread. "I love you, Peeta."

Enveloping me in his arms, Peeta hugs me tightly. "I know."

"Happy Father's Day," I whisper against his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him.

I feel the baby flutter again and smile. It isn't so bad, the more I get used to it. Our baby is a symbol of healing. He or she is a symbol of life moving forward, of us becoming a complete unit that no one can ever separate. I know now that this child will strengthen the bond between Peeta and I. It will bring me fully back into a society I've been hiding from. This baby is my salvation… no matter how much that scares me.


	9. Note

I just wanted to let everyone know that I had a new release come out this Friday. Supernatural Kid on the Block can be gotten here :

Supernatural-Kid-Block-Series-ebook/dp/B00HAKOF72/ref=sr_1_11?ie=UTF8&qid=1387032641&sr=8-11&keywords=melissa+hosack

My young adult novel under the name Melissa Frost is also now available. It has been on Amazon's Best Seller list for Contemporary Romance for Teens since its release! If you enjoy my young adult stuff, you might like this one! I'm working on the sequel now!

The-Dating-Tutor-Melissa-Frost-ebook/dp/B00F55KBEU/ref=cm_cr_pr_pb_t

If you want to keep up with my published works, you can like my Facebook page:

pages/Melissa-Hosack-Author-of-Paranormal-Romance/119951088073763

Or follow me on Twitter:

/MelissaHosack

Once again, thank you for all of the support everyone has shown this little mini-series of mine. I'm so appreciative of the feedback I've gotten!


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